


The Angel And The Kid

by NoapologiesNoexcusesNoregrets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Hates GHOSTS, Adam is a complicated little bunny, Alternate Universe - Crack, Anal Sex, Angel boyfriend takes this way too seriously, Angels are Dicks, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, BAMF Adam Winchester, BAMF Jo Harvelle, Because Adam likes cupcakes, Because he's not insane, Because priorities, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual people getting laid, Bisexuality, Brother Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, But not as much as he likes cupcakes, Crack, Crack and Angst, Crossword Puzzles, Cupcake obsession, Dark Crack, F/F, F/M, Fighting that turns into kissing, Gay Male Character, Gay People Being Gay, Gay Sex, He also likes kissing a certain Angel, Hot Angels Wearing Leather Jackets, Kissing that turns into fighting, Little brother getting exasperated with both his brothers and his so-totally-NOT-his-Angel-boyfriend, Lots of arguments about weird stuff, Lots of kissing and stuff, M/M, Older brothers threatening their little brother's angel boyfriend, Overly protective Dean - Freeform, Protective Older Brothers, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Seriously the kissing is a thing, Sex during the apocalypse, Sexy Times, Straight people being straight, and all that good stuff, because why the hell not, no of course not, that would be stupid, the apocalypse is more of a scrabble situation, what else are you gonna do?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoapologiesNoexcusesNoregrets/pseuds/NoapologiesNoexcusesNoregrets
Summary: This is the story that was never meant to be told.Adam Winchester is getting his second chance to cause some damage. Or save the world. Maybe.Adam's mother abandones him to be raised as a Winchester and this one action changes the entire course of Adam's life.It's Adam's turn to make all the wrong choices. It's his turn to fight. To suffer. To sacrifice. To fall in love with an Angel against his will.This is the story of Adam Winchester. The forgotten brother. The one without a purpose. The Winchester who doesn't have a destiny.Yet.





	1. Our Choices Define Us

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN THIS FIC! I SWEAR! NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT!
> 
> This is a crack fic of the highest degree. With angst thrown in. Mostly because it's physically impossible to write a Supernatural fic without any emotional drama. I'm writing this to amuse myself and because I miss season 4 and 5 of SPN. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> -Gay. The Gay is strong in this one. Like it or leave through the metaphorical door of this fic. 
> 
> -OOC behaviour. I think. Adam was almost a non-character to me, so I don't feel bad manipulating him to fit my cracky needs. 
> 
> -Violence. Because this is Supernatural and there's an apocalypse going on people!
> 
> -Swearing. Bad language. But only when appropriate. Like when someone stubs their toe. If you can stub your toe without swearing then I salute you for your inner strength.
> 
> -If other stuff comes up then I promise to let you know. But there will be nothing that goes beyond the pale. Not going beyond the pale is very important! Write that down on your important pads for things that are important!
> 
> I would also ask that there be no flames. I appreciate comments more than anything, but if you have nothing nice to say then....sssshhhhh. Thank you in advance.

_You didn't ask for this_

_Nobody ever would_  
_Caught in the middle of this dysfunction_  
_It's your sad reality_  
_It's your messed up family tree_  
_And all your left with all these questions_

 _Are you gonna be like your father was and his father was?_  
_Do you have to carry what they've handed down?_

 _No, this is not your legacy_  
_This is not your destiny_  
_Yesterday does not define you_  
_No, this is not your legacy_  
_This is not your meant to be_  
_I can break the chains that bind you_

 _I have a dream for you_  
_It's better than where you've been_  
_It's bigger than your imagination_  
_You're gonna find real love_  
_And you're gonna hold your kids_  
_You'll change the course of generations_

 _No, this is not your legacy_  
_This is not your destiny_  
_Yesterday does not define you_  
_No, this is not your legacy_  
_This is not your meant to be_  
_I can break the chains that bind you_

 _'Cause you're my child_  
_You're my chosen_  
_You are loved_  
_You are loved_

 _And I will restore_  
_All that was broken_  
_You are loved_  
_You are loved_

 _And just like the seasons change_  
_Winter into spring_  
_You're bringing new life to your family tree now_  
_Yes you are_  
_You are_

 _Oh, this will be your legacy_  
_This will be your destiny_  
_Yesterday did not define you_  
_Oh, this will be your legacy_  
_This will be your meant to be_  
_I can break the chains that bind you_

 _And just like the seasons change_  
_Winter into spring_  
_You're bringing new life to your family tree now_

**Family Tree**

**Matthew West**

* * *

 

Most people think the worst feeling in the world is the pain of losing someone you love. But when I was eight years old I was taught something different. I learnt the hard way that the worst feeling in the world isn't _losing_ someone you love, it's having someone you love _leave you_ of their own choice.

Because you weren't enough.

Because maybe they weren't enough either.

Knowing the difference between the two is key, but in the end it doesn't take away the ache of needing someone who has _chosen_ not to be there.

This right here is a version of the infamous story you all know, that was never meant to be told. I guess maybe Chuck decided it was time for some rewrites. Can't say I blame him; not much went exactly to plan last time around. I mean, talk about plot twists taking on a mind their own.

If you're looking for a complete redo, a chance to fix every single mistake that was ever made, a story without any holes or stupid decisions, then this isn't it. Winchesters fuck things up. That's a fact.

But at least when we fuck things up, we go big. If it's not ending the world, then it's not worth worrying about.

In the original story there were two brothers. One older. Dean Winchester. Brave. Selfless. And broken inside. One younger. Sam Winchester. Clever. Strong. And constantly torn. They fought and suffered and loved and died and saved the world. Then they got back up and did it all over again when the world refused to stay saved for even one Goddamn minute.

And of course there was the angel Castiel. He was broken and torn too. Castiel was a lot of things. He made the hardest choices. And he died for most of them.

In this new and arguably not at all improved version of the story, there are three brothers. There's still Dean, stubborn and emotionally constipated as always. And there's still Sam, who tries so hard to do good, but kind of ends up doing the opposite in the process sometimes.

Despite all that though, neither of them are ever anything less than everything they need to be.

Then there's me. Adam Winchester. I'm the one who wasn't meant to become anything important. I wasn't ever supposed to influence the story enough to make a real difference.

My Mom apparently didn't get that memo, because she made a choice that changed everything. Or, at the very least, it set us all on a path that caused the universe to take another look and reconsider.

Dean and Sam Winchester were meant to have the ultimate destiny. But they chose to fight together instead.

I was an afterthought, not destiny material at all. But the universe decided to give me another chance anyway.

When I was eight years old I was taught something by the choice of another. Eleven years later I learnt the hard way once again...that the greatest destinies are the ones we create for ourselves.

And this time, the choice would be all mine.


	2. Meet The Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam summarises his life for you all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN, I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL! SO STOP SPREADING THAT RUMOUR!
> 
> Another disclaimer-The letter from Adam's mother in this fic belongs to TJ Klune, I bow down to his superior in every way writing skills. Also the calling Adam 'the kid' angle. You inspire me TJ, thank you for existing.

It began and ended with a letter.

But that part's not really important anymore. I'll give you the cliff notes though so you don't feel lost.

My Mom ran away when I was eight. She wrote a letter, left it on the kitchen counter for me to find when I got home from school, packed a bag (or maybe she did that part first, I'm not sure what the usual itinerary actually is for abandoning your entire life), and caught the next bus out of town with her new guy of the month.

I came home that day, frustrated because I'd gotten into a fight with another boy after school. I think the boy's name was Damien. Like seriously. Who the hell names their kid 'Damien' and then expects him not to turn into a complete doucheclown at some point in his life? I'm pretty sure he had a brother named 'Zeus' too. Not even kidding. His parents should have had their naming privileges taken away so their next kid wouldn't end up being called something like 'Hades' or 'Jesus'.

Anyway, Damien was picking on this much smaller kid who I didn't even know and I got in his face. Don't know why. Didn't even really think about it. I told Damien to back off. He did not. Because, you know, he had already decided to fufill his foretold prophecy of becoming a total doucheclown.

Damien took the first swing, but it didn't matter. All our teacher Mrs Flock saw was me holding Damien in a headlock and him crying. The tears were obviously fake. But adults tend not to notice shit like that. Easier not to make life too complicated for themselves I guess.

Mrs Flock gave me two weeks worth of detention and a letter to take home to my mom asking her to come in for a meeting with the principle to 'discuss my unnaturally volatile behaviour'. Or whatever. It's not like that would have been the first disciplinary meeting my Mom had ever gone to because of me. Because, yeah, maybe I had a problem with getting into fights. More fights than your average kid even.

I knew what would happen when I gave my Mom that letter. She would yell at me for about ten minutes and then send me to my room without dinner. Not that I would have expected my Mom to actually make me dinner. She rarely cooked anything for herself, let alone me too. If I wanted to eat then I was usually left to my own devices to make something out of whatever we had in the house. Which, often, was not much.

As long as my mom had her cigarettes and whiskey she tended to not need much else to get by.

I didn't actually mind making my own meals back then. I'd never really known anything different.

So yeah, I knew my Mom would get pissed at me for exactly ten minutes and then forget about me completely just like she did every night. She only ever went to those meetings at my school because after the first few times she didn't go, the police got involved. I didn't get why at the time. I hadn't been to school for about three weeks when the police showed up at our door because Mom told me it was better that I stay home where I couldn't get into any more fights.

But obviously that day was different. The day I got home from school with that stupid disciplinary letter and found another, very different, kind of letter waiting on the kitchen counter.

I think I knew, although I have no idea how I could have, that something was wrong as soon as I got through the front door. I could feel it in the air. The apartment, our apartment, was too quiet. It felt...wrong. Off. Like something really bad had happened there and the shitty little apartment was trying to expel any remaining tension out through the walls.

The letter my mom wrote for me went like this...

_Adam,_

_I know this is going to be hard for you to read, but I hope you'll understand._

_I have to leave, Adam. Carl got a job out of state and I'm going with him. I'm doing this because I think it will be easier on all of us if it is read rather than said. This is a chance for me to make something of myself. Carl says there are a lot of jobs where we're going which will be better then here. Remember my last job? At the Pizza Shack? Remember how well that went? In case you can't tell from this just being a letter, I was being sarcastic. It didn't go well at all. (At least we know my future is not in pizza!)_

_I know you never liked Carl, but he treats me ok. You shouldn't worry about him and me, as we'll be fine. Well, I know you won't worry about him, but still. He's stuck around longer than your father did. At least Carl hasn't hit me yet or anything. He even said that when I save up enough money, he'll let me get one of those online degrees from University of Phoenix Arizona, or whatever its called. Imagine me, with a college degree!_

_Speaking of that, I hope that you'll get a chance to be a writer like you wanted to. You've been making up stories since you were a little kid. Well, I guess you still are a little kid kind of. But you were always so mature for your age. It was like having a grown up son who just looked like a little boy._

_See, the thing is, Carl says that you can't go. He says that having you around will just "freak" up his concentration. (Ok, he didn't say freak, but you know what I meant) I know this seems like I am making a bad decision but last night I had a dream. It was all black around me and there was a flashing light really far away. I felt like I had to walk a long time to reach it. I finally got there and the light was a sign for a motel. You know what the motel was called, Adam? It was called the LAST CHANCE MOTEL. Do you see what that means? LAST CHANCE MOTEL. It means it's my last chance! My dream was a message, I know it, and I think whoever is watching over us knew I was having a tough time making this decision and that's why I had the dream. But Carl does say that you can't go. So I am going to let your Dad look after you from now on. You were always better at looking after yourself anyways. Remember when I was sick for like a month last year and I couldn't move, and you took care of me? You did a really good job then and I remember thinking you're going to be a good boyfriend some day, not like your Dad. That is why I feel ok about leaving you here. I just think it would be better for you. What if something happens to me when I'm with Carl? I don't want you to see that sort of stuff again._

_I am going to miss you, so you know. You grew up ok, despite everything. I hope you don't hate me or anything for this, but maybe I'll be back one day if this doesn't work out. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe, I was never meant to be a mom. I see you sometimes and I think how much better it would have been for you if you were never born. But I remember you as such a happy baby. Your smile still makes it worth it and I hope you'll still smile even after this._

_I don't know what else to say._

_Please don't try looking for me. I don't want Carl to get mad._

_P.S. On the back of this letter I wrote your Dad's number. I called this morning to tell him I was leaving but he wasn't there so I spoke to his other son, Dean or something (you have a brother! You always wanted one of those, right?). After I explained everything Dean or whatever told me your Dad is away on a hunting trip. But I can't wait to leave because Carl needs to start his new job on Monday so we have to go today. I told Dean that and he said he would come and get you. Make sure you behave for your Dad and your new brother ok!_

_Love Mom_

Dean did come for me. Despite the fact that he'd had no idea I even fucking existed until that morning. Dean had been three states over when my Mom called so it took him a while to get to the apartment. He didn't come alone either. Sam was with him. When I first saw them they were both wearing the same expression of confusion, although whereas Dean's was tinged with wariness, Sam's held an edge of anger.

They'd both still been teenagers back then, Sam fifteen and Dean nineteen. Sam was already taller though, and despite Dean's pretty face, his eyes were hardened, making him look a lot older than he actually was.

I stood at the door staring at them. My older brothers who I'd never met, or knew existed. I hadn't even met my Dad yet. Mom never told me much about him. Just that he was a dangerous man who didn't like to stay in the same place for very long. I thought that sounded like a lot of my Mom's boyfriends. But I quickly learned when I met my father that he was something different altogether.

Dean, Sam and I stared at each other from either side of the doorway for a long time. Sam's stare was somehow both assessing and sympathetic. Dean stare was just painfully guarded. He didn't look like he wanted to be there any more than I wanted him to have to be.

But I did need him. I knew that even then. I needed _someone_. Because my Mom was gone. She was _gone_. She'd left me there alone and sent strangers to our door to take me away.

That was easily the most awkward and uncomfortable moment of my life. Or at least it was the most awkward and uncomfortable moment between me and my two older brothers. And that's really saying something considering some of the situations we've gotten ourselves into since then.

I remember when Sam and Dean once accidentally caught me kissing some guy at a college party. I was fourteen and Dean and I had been visiting Sam at Stanford at the time.

Dean totally exploded with indignant spluttering and Winchester rage. Not like, because he has a problem with all The Gay Shit (and yeah I'm still calling it The Gay Shit because even though I don't give a flying fuck who _other people_ fuck, I'm also not a preppy college kid. Or Sam). Nah, Dean didn't actually care if I was into guys or not, he was just being his usual 'change-sucks-and-I-hate-it-so-watch-me-process-my-emotions-by-yelling-even-though-I'm-not-actually-pissed-off' self.

I'm used to Dean flying off the handle when he lets too much stuff build up inside his thick head. Dean yelled at me for sneaking off to a college party and making out with a college guy, who by the way ended up cowering in the corner in abject fear, but not because of Dean. It was Sam who made the guy look like he wanted to die or fade into the wall to escape. Sam is tall. Like, seriously, you don't know how intimidating it is to have a six foot something giant loom over you until you've experienced the full on bitch faced giraffe that is my brother Sam Winchester.

Sam just stood there, frowning pissily at the college guy who had dared to try and defile the innocence of his little brother. I would have told him that my innocence had been quite fantastically destroyed by Nina Demarco in the backseat of her Dad's old mustang about six months before that night. But somehow I don't think that would have helped make the situation any less stupid and over the top dramatic. Because my family do _D_ rama with a capital 'D'. I don't think we have the mental capacity to be calm, rational, human beings most of the time.

The whole thing was so freakin' embarrassing though because Dean shouted " _He's only fourteen you son of a bitch!_ " at the guy I'd been kissing. The expression on the other guy's face would have actually been hilarious under different circumstances. He looked like he was about to throw up, or go down on his knees and beg for divine intervention. I should have told him that if God does actually exist then he probably doesn't usually waste His time saving idiot college boys from the wraith of older brothers. I used to imagine God sitting up there on a cloud or something and pissing himself with laughter at the ridiculous behaviour of the human race. We took free will and we ran with it. Right over the edge of a freakin' cliff.

But, ok, Dean wasn't just yelling at me is what I mean. Well, he was yelling _at me_ technically, but it wasn't only me he was mad at. Dean had been struggling with a lot of other stuff as well. Most of his frustration came from our Dad being himself, namely, an asshole.

One thing you should know is that I did love my Dad, because he was my Dad, and he did agree to take me on when my mother booked it out of town with her latest Carl. There had been many Carl's before the last one. After a while I just called them all 'Carl' inside my head. They were all pretty much exactly the same guy anyway.

But just because I loved my Dad doesn't mean that I didn't know what kind of man he was. It's not that I ever doubted that he loved us. Me, Sam and Dean, we were his family and that was important. Just not as important most of the time as hunting. Especially hunting the demon that killed Dean and Sam's mom.

That's all gone now of course. Dad died to save Dean. Went to hell in the process. Then Dean decided to be an idiot and sold his own soul to save our brother. I'll admit that I didn't work all that hard to stop Dad or Dean. Because losing either of my brothers felt impossible. It cut into me in a different way than when my mom left. Dean and Sam were, are, my family. They were the ones who came to get me when I had no one. I would have swapped places with them in a heartbeat if I could.

I tried to sell my own soul for Sam, but Dean exorcised the demon I summoned before it could even make an offer. Dean looked me right in the eye afterwards and our mutual grief for Sam filled the space between us, making it hard to _breathe_. My oldest brother gripped my shoulders tightly, hard enough for it to hurt, and said " _Don't you dare, kid. Don't you break me like that. Not you. This is my responsibility, not yours. Me and Sam are the ones who are supposed to look out for you. And I was supposed to protect you and Sam, keep you both safe_. _I know I let Sam down. I let Dad down too. You're the only one left and I would rather die right here, right now, than watch you take on the job that was always mine. So, you just go back to wait with Sam and let me do this."_

I glared back at him then, because I was angry and in pain and a Winchester. We take on emotion like it's a monster that we're hunting. No mercy. We were never taught any other way to deal.

I choked on a breathe that I could barely get out, because that was all I could do without crying like a baby. It took me a few tries, but eventually I managed to look Dean in the eye and say " _I don't have a responsibility to protect you and Sam. I just want to_."

Dean yanked me into a hug after the last word fell out my mouth. We held onto each other like it was the end of the world and there was nothing left to do but wait. In a way, that's exactly what it was. The beginning of the end. Not that either of us knew that at the time. If we had known then maybe...no, actually, knowing myself and my family, we wouldn't have done a damn thing differently. We would always choose to save each other, to sacrifice everything for one another. It's what brothers do. Or at least that's what we do in my family.

I did what Dean told me. I went back to wait with Sam's dead body. Because that's how things always went with us. Dean followed Dad's orders and I followed Dean's. Sam was the one who followed nothing and no one. I don't know why it turned out that way, but it did. When I was younger I wanted to be just like Dean. I think that threw Dean off at first, because Sam had never been like that. Not that Sam didn't love and respect the hell out of Dean as his big brother. It was just different.

Dean and I got real close after he picked me up from the old, run down apartment that was once my home. I didn't ever have a home again. Unless you count the Impala. But I had Dean and Sam and Dad, which was more than I'd had before in most ways. It was Dean who I spent the majority of my time with though. Dean took me to school and kept me fed and protected me against nightmares, both real and incorporeal.

Dad was rarely around for very long so it was mostly Dean who taught me how to hunt; how to protect myself and others from the things that go bump in the night. Sam tried to talk to me about schoolwork and going to college, but I used to see the fear in Dean's eyes whenever Sam started in on all that. I didn't like seeing that very real fear on Dean's face, so I did whatever I could to make it go away. Even if that meant pulling back from Sam a bit.

School didn't feel real to me by then, not when compared to the monsters that lurked in the shadows of our world. I felt the same compulsion to hunt those monsters down and take them out. I couldn't, can't, think of anything more important than protecting people from the things they don't even know they should be afraid of.

Then Sam and Dad got into that final massive fight and Sam ran off to college when I was eleven. After that it was just me and Dean whenever Dad went off by himself, which was most of the time. Sam and I still spoke on the phone for the first year, but things definitely felt strained. I couldn't help but compare Sam leaving to when my mother left. Neither of them said goodbye. Sam left a letter for me too. It read something like this:

_Kid,_

_I'm sorry for not telling you this in person. I wanted to, but Dad is really angry at me right now and Dean has gone into mama bear mode to keep you out of it. You know how he is. He said he'd give you this letter though. Don't blame Dean, he's just trying to protect you like always._

_No matter what Dad says, I need you to know that I'm still your older brother. If you need me then all you have to do is call. I wrote down my new number at the bottom of this letter. Use it. I'm serious. You're more important than school or fighting with Dad, so just call me whenever you want to._

_I'm leaving because I got accepted into Stanford. I don't know if you'll understand or not, but I have to take this chance to get out. I never wanted to be a hunter, but that doesn't mean I don't want you or Dean in my life._

_Stay safe ok. I'll miss you, kid._

_Sam._

I've kept my mother's letter and Sam's. Both of them are folded up my wallet. Which is probably not healthy at all. But I can't seem to make myself get rid of them, even though Sam's been back in my life full time for the past few years.

That night at Stanford though, before any of the other shit went down with Azazel and Sam's insane psychic powers, Dean had been pissed at Dad for refusing to come and visit Sam. Dean had also been pissed at Sam for refusing to even talk about Dad ever since we'd shown up without him.

It took a long time, over a year, for Dean to release the reigns enough to let me visit Sam. I think he only relented and went against Dad's wishes because it was my birthday and I'd asked to spend it with both Dean and Sam together like we had every year before Sam went away to school.

I used my super power of being really annoying and whiny until finally Dean lost it and shouted " _Fine! God damn it, ok, kid, I get it. We'll call Sam and meet up with him for your birthday. Just don't say anything to Dad, alright_."

I felt pretty smug about the whole thing right up until Dad did actually find out about it a few weeks after my birthday. He and Dean got into a fight so bad that it was bordering on _Sam_ and Dad's level of fighting territory. Dean's fights with Dad before that had been less actual fighting and more just Dad berating Dean into the ground and Dean accepting it without question.

I kind of hated Dad a bit when he did that kind of stuff to Dean. It was weird because even though I followed Dean's lead, he never spoke to me like Dad did to him. He got mad at me, sure, but I was never afraid of him.

Then again, Dean isn't my Dad, even though at times it felt like he was. I even called Dean 'Dad' once by accident. I was twelve and Dean woke me up from a really bad dream. Sam was already gone by then, and Dad was off on one of his solo hunts, so it was just me and Dean. I'd been asleep in the back seat of the Impala when Dean shook me awake. I'd been dreaming about the day my Mom left. Again. It was a reoccurring dream that had started up right after Sam went away to college.

That was another reason why Dean was pissed off at Sam for leaving. He thought it would fuck me up to have another person walk away for the chance of a better life. And, in a way, it kind of had. But that wasn't Sam's fault. He shouldn't have had to give up what he wanted just to stop me from feeling abandoned. It wasn't like I was alone. I had Dean. And Dean had me. We dealt with Sam leaving together. Although I think it caused us to cling onto each other more than we probably should have.

Co-dependent is one word for it. Then when Dad went missing Sam came back to us, or maybe we dragged him back, and he became a part of the unhealthy weirdness as well. Yay?

Dean woke me up from yet another nightmare about the people I loved leaving me and I was still half out of it when Dean let go of my shoulder. I grabbed onto his arm and begged desperately " _Please, d_ _on't leave me Dad_." Dean had stared at me, eyes wide, mouth working without any actual words coming out. I woke up properly after a few seconds of blinking stupidly at Dean. When I realised what I'd said I played it off like I'd thought Dean was John. That was a big fat lie, but Dean looked less freaked out when I said that so I figured the lie was worth it.

I don't know why the word 'Dad' slipped out that night. Well, alright, I do know why. You don't need to be a psychology major to work it out. But the truth behind the reason why is one of those things no one ever verbally acknowledges. The fact that Dean raised me is irrelevant. You don't call your big brother 'Dad'. You just _don't_. No one had to tell me that. No one had to tell me that John's word was law, but Dean's word is family.

Dean frog marched me out of that college dorm, Sam following close behind, leaving the guy I'd been making out with behind us to go hide under his bed for the rest of the year, just in case he ever ran into Sam again. Sam even told me years later that he'd seen the same guy around campus once and when the guy saw Sam, he literally jumped into a bush to hide. Because jumping head first into a bush is so freakin' subtle. Clearly my taste in people needed a bit of work.

But to be fair, fourteen year old boys tend not to have a very high bar when it comes to people who are willing to mess around with them in any capacity.

Even now my bar ain't all that high to be honest. My bar is probably even lower than Dean's, which is just sad, because all it takes to get Dean interested is 'be alive, a woman over eighteen, and have zero expectations for anything more than a one night stand'. Yeah, that's pretty much it.

That being said, my bar is 'alive, person over eighteen, not a demon'. So, it's not like I can say much.

Sam's the only one who's ever had anything close to steady. Jess, his college girlfriend. And she was killed by a demon. That doesn't exactly promote healthy long term relationships.

After catching me with a guy that first time, Sam and Dean approached the situation in two completely different ways.

Dean vented his inability to handle the revelation of my not-quite-straight sexuality by yelling at me about anything and everything _except that_ until he ran out of steam. Then he just stared at me for a very long minute before saying gruffly " _Use condoms. Don't tell Dad. And if any guy hurts you then tell me so I can beat him to death. Got it?"_ I just nodded in response to all three and we never spoke of it again.

Sam, on the other hand, came to me the next morning with leaflets about gay safe sex and something that described 'coming out' in my own time. And as if that wasn't horrific enough, Sam actually tried to have a 'discussion' about how I felt regarding my 'new sexuality status'. I mean, what the fuck? No fourteen year old boy anywhere ever has wanted to 'discuss' their 'gay feelings', _Jesus Christ_ , about liking dick with their older brother. No _way_. Fact.

Dean actually saw the 'coming out' leaflet and he muttered something like " _Who the hell are you coming out to anyway? Sam and I already got a front row seat to you being macked on by some doucheclown who's probably studying one of those fake-sounding degree courses like 'Advanced puppeteering' or 'Naked poetry reading'."_

That actually made me laugh. Sam just gave Dean a major bitch face, which made me laugh even harder.

Long story short, this is where I'm at right now.

Dean sold his soul. Sam and I tried to save him. We failed. Epically. Horrifically. And Dean went to hell. I spent four ridiculously awful months being hardcore babysat alternately by Bobby, Sam and his new demon girlfriend Ruby (lets all pause for a moment to silently vomit inside our mouths and then swallow it back down...alright, you good? Yeah? Great. I'm really not. Have you ever had to hear your brother have demon sex through a motel room wall? No, then you do not understand my pain. I got yelled at by Sam when I put on gay porn in my room and turned the volume WAY up to make a point. If I have to listen to demon sex then Sam has to listen to gay sex. Fair is fair.)

I'd almost, sort of, resigned myself to a lifetime of guilt and misery and making sure Sam didn't marry a demon (because NO!). But then, against all odds, and the cosmic laws of life and death probably, Dean showed up looking very not dead or torn apart by a hellhound.

Sam tried to kill him again (not cool, but hey, hunters are suspicious folk for a reason). Dean cut himself with a silver knife and got a ton of holy water thrown in his face (which, I won't lie, I had a hard time not laughing my ass off about despite everything because the look of 'can you, like, **not** ' on Dean's face was perfect), but after those tests and a few assurances from Bobby, also known as the sanest person in our family, we all agreed that Dean was in fact the real Dean.

I practically climbed over Sam to get to Dean and we hugged hard enough to cut off circulation to a critical point. I'd never felt such a sense of relief. It was like, like... _shit_ , there isn't anything to compare the feeling to. Dean is my brother, and losing him shattered me in ways I didn't even know were possible. I must have tried to sell my soul to save him about a hundred times before Sam caught me doing it and made me promise to stop.

I had agreed, reluctantly, after a fistfight with Sam that ended with black eyes, bleeding noses and some bruised ribs. Dean would have been pissed at us for fighting, especially about him. He would have told us that we were meant to be kicking demon ass, not each others'.

I realised, whilst crushing Dean in a hug that had already gone on way too long, that I would never be able to handle losing Dean again. I made a vow to myself that I would do anything, anything at all, to keep him safe. If anyone was taking the next bullet, then it would be me.

...

Of course the next big question after 'Is it _really_ Dean?' was 'How the _hell_ can it actually _be Dean_?'

Bobby suggested going to a psychic friend of his, Pamela, which ended, predictably, badly. More badly for Pamela than for us though. She was the one who got her eyes burnt out.

Dean then decided it would be a good idea to go confront the thing that _burned out Pamela's eyes_ from just the sight of it. And now, see, that's the kind of bullshit thinking I'm gonna have to protect my brother from. I am so screwed.

Sam and Dean had a run in with some demons, who it turns out don't know jackshit about why Dean is alive, BIG surprise there. Now Sam has disappeared off to 'get a sandwich' or whatever, which is now apparently code for 'doing weird psychic demon stuff with Ruby'. I didn't tell Dean that though, because I'm not a snitch, and also because Dean doesn't need to be dealing with Sam's bullshit whilst he's got enough of his own. I don't care what Dean says, there's no way anyone gets to just walk out of hell without any internal scars. I mean it was **_hell_**. There's a reason they call it that.

So now here I am, feeling like a moron, holding a big-ass gun from Bobby's personal stash. I really hope no one ever raids Bobby's house because the FBI would be all over a lot of the stuff he has hidden in there.

Dean and Bobby are also here, gripping weapons tightly, looking like morons. Or at least Dean does. Bobby just looks tired of dealing with our shit, which is actually his default expression at this point.

Bobby did a summoning ritual to bring the thing that _burned out Pamela's eyes_ (yeah, I'm not gonna get over that anytime soon, so) here. To this shack. To this creepy as fuck shack with every symbol known to hunter-kind drawn all over the walls, floor and ceiling.

"This is dumb." I say.

Dean sighs and says,

"Yeah, kid, I heard you the first few dozen times, thanks."

"And yet," I say, lifting a hand and then letting it drop, "we're still here. Does my opinion mean nothing to you?"

Dean sighs tiredly and looks over at me.

" _'This is dumb'_ isn't an opinion. It's you whinin' like a little bitch."

"I'm not whining." I say calmly. "I'm making a formal complaint about your stupid plan that will probably get us all killed."

Dean kicks my ankle, hard, and snaps,

"You know where you can stick your 'formal complaint', little brother? Right up your-"

Bobby cuts Dean off,

"Boys, will the two of you shut the hell up and stop pulling on each others hair like little girls."

I mock frown at Bobby and put on my best Sam impression,

"Are you calling us 'girls' to make us ashamed or something? Because that's not cool, Bobby."

"Stop trying to right the wrongs of society, Sammy." Dean says, the first smile I've since he got back now stretching his lips. It isn't anything like what it used to be, but I'll take it.

Also, I nailed my Sam impression. Awesome.

Bobby snorts and shakes his head at us in exasperation.

"Have you idgits ever seen girls fight?" Bobby says with a snort. "I know women who could kick both your asses, easy."

Yeah, I remember when Jo beat down Dean. It was hilarious. I laughed so hard I fell over.

"Are you sure you did the ritual thing right Bobby?" Dean asks impatiently.

Bobby just gives Dean a look that clearly means 'you, _what_?' and Dean holds his hands up in apology.

"Ok, sorry. Touchy, touchy."

I say to Bobby,

"If you wanna shoot him, no one would blame you. We can tell Sam it was an accident. I would back you up on that."

"Might hold you to that one, kid." Bobby grumbles.

Dean glares at me. I ignore him.

He's probably about to say something Dean-ish, but he before he can the wind suddenly picks up outside, causing the walls of our Final Stand (emphasis on _final_ because we're probably going to die in the next two minutes) shack to shake loudly. We all take this as the sign it is and ready our weapons. The metal roofing bashes obnoxiously and light bulbs explode one by one above our heads.

Excellent. I'm getting so many good feelings about this. If I hadn't already thought this was a crappy idea, I would think it now.

"Wishful thinking," Dean says, "but maybe it's just a storm."

I narrow my eyes at his stupid head.

"I don't like you." I tell Dean, meaning it in the way only a sibling can.

The shack doors burst open with a groan and a crack of now splintered wood. Lights are still sparking and exploding when a man appears in the entrance of the shack. He strides towards us looking like an avenging angel wearing a trench coat.

Taller than me (because apparently I missed out on the Winchester giant gene). Arctic blue eyes. Dark bed head hair. Stubbled jaw. Kinda hot in an offbeat way. Which is totally not the thing I should be noticing, I know, but my brain checks people out subconsciously, I swear. If I could control it, I would.

I really hope he doesn't kill us, whoever he is, because _'I'd totally bang him'_ would be the worst last thought to have about your own murderer.

Bobby and Dean start firing their weapons before I do, but I quickly follow suit.

Bed head guy does not even slow down. Seriously. He gives zero fucks about being shot about fifty times by three different weapons. Not good.

"Who are you?" Dean demands, glaring warily at Bed head.

Bed head stops in front of my brother and says, without any inflection whatsoever,

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

I put down my gun, because, clearly, it ain't helping and I was raised never to waste perfectly good bullets. Or get the attention of something that I can't kill, or at least slow down, by shooting at it.

Dean never quite learned that level of self-preservation, which is weird since he's the one who taught it to me. The whole 'do as I say not as I do' thing applied a lot during my hunter training.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Dean stabs Bed head with the demon killing knife.

It has no effect.

Well, this is just starting to get embarrassing.

Dad would be so pissed that two of his sons can't even kill a guy wearing a suit and tie. Hell, maybe the tie is magic. Like a tie of invincibility!

Dean might actually kill me if I start laughing right now.

Bobby tries to hit Bed head with a crow bar, which would have been the best thing ever if it had worked. Bullets, no. Magic demon killing knife, no. Crow bar, and down he goes!

Bed head stops Bobby from hitting him and touches his forehead with two fingers. Bobby drops to the floor.

I get down on my knees next to Bobby and check for a pulse. Relief sings through my blood when I find one.

"Kid-" Dean starts, both fear and rage fighting for dominance in his voice.

"He's fine, Dean." I say, before my brother can lose it completely.

"Are you?" Dean asks, concern and annoyance highlighting his tone this time.

"Yeah, as long as Bed head over here doesn't bad touch my forehead then I'm fine." I narrow my eyes at Bed head in warning.

Ben head looks right at me for the first time and woah! Guy has some serious stare skills. I keep my mouth firmly shut, because I really do not want to be the next victim of Bed head's finger fainting touch.

I do stare back at Bed head though. It's kind of hard not to. I almost feel as if he can see right down into me with those piercing eyes of his. I wonder if he practices his staring in the mirror or something. I really want to ask, but the last time I struck up a conversation with a monster, Dean grounded me for being an idiot. It was kind of hard for him to ground me whilst we were on the road, but he made a valiant effort. He even threatened me with the boot a few times. Sam managed to talk him out of it, for which I am eternally grateful.

"Who are you?" I hear myself ask, although my voice sounds strangely distant, more like an echo than the real thing.

" _Castiel_." Bed head intones without hesitation. He's still staring at me like it's his freakin' _job_.

"Pretty name. I like it." I say. Because, in case it wasn't already obvious, I am not a very wise person.

Castiel's cold eyes spark briefly with the kind of fire I've never seen before. It's inhuman, I know that much.

Dean clears his throat loudly and says,

"Yeah, we figured the 'who' part out ourselves, thanks. Better question is, _w_ _hat_ are you?"

Castiel's attention becomes fixed back on Dean, and I let out a shallow sigh of relief. My entire body actually relaxes. I hadn't even realised that I'd tensed up so much. Makes sense though, this isn't exactly Casper the friendly ghost we're dealing with here.

Ironically, one of my first hunts was a ghost who's name was Casper. He had not been friendly. At all. And there went another shattered illusion from my childhood.

"I am an Angel of the Lord." Castiel says. Sort of. It sounds more like an announcement. Should someone gasp dramatically? Or applaud? Or maybe shout 'hallelujah' for kicks?

I'm trying to make my mind up on which one is least likely to cause me to get my eyes burnt out of my head when Dean ruins it by scoffing.

Like full on _scoffing_.

He's got his bitch face on. Which is rare. Sam is usually the prime utilizer of the bitch face in our family.

Dean's more of a pouter. Or a glowerer. Or a punch-random-stuff-er-er.

"Get the hell out of here." Dean says to Castiel. "There's no such thing."

Which is almost hilarious for my brother to say considering all of the shit we deal with on a day-to-day basis. The whole 'does not exist' argument is a moot point for me. Unless it's Santa. Because Santa is a lie, kids. A vicious, vicious, lie.

Castiel tilts his head at my brother and says steadily,

"This is your problem Dean...you have no faith."

I am physically incapable of holding in the bark of laughter that comes out of mouth in response to that statement.

Dean glares at me and I know I'm gonna get so much shit from him later. Providing that we survive this. I'm still not so sure that we will. I am becoming cautiously optimistic though as more time passes with Castiel not smiting us, or whatever it is Angel's do these days.

I know it's insane to laugh right now, but that was _funny_. An Angel of the lord telling you that you have no faith is like a fish telling you that you don't swim very well.

"Someone had to say it, Castiel." I manage to get out, because it's too good to resist. "The no faith thing has always been my main concern with Dean as well."

" _Kid!"_ Dean barks at me. I am immediately cowed. It's still fucking funny though.

Lighting crashes in the darkness and lights up our Final Stand (although maybe not so Final anymore) shack. I see the unmistakeable shadow outline of Angel wings on the back wall. My jaw drops. I can't decide if that's freaky or awesome. Or scary as fuck. Maybe a combination of all three.

Dean gets over his shock first and uses his 'you're full of shit' voice to condemn Castiel for burning out the eyes of Pamela. Castiel looks...well, not regretful exactly (can Angel's even feel regret? Can Angel's feel...anything?) but he doesn't seem happy or unmoved by what he did to Pamela. Castiel explains about his true form and voice being not at all human-friendly for the most part.

Dean gets pissy again when Castiel admits to wearing a vessel. It makes me feel a little weird as well. Mostly because now I feel extra bad about thinking Castiel's vessel is hot. Although I do think that part of the attraction comes from something that has nothing to do with the vessel and everything to do with Castiel himself. Those eyes of his, especially. No way a human could have eyes like that. They're too cold. Too ethereal. Which makes sense, because, hello, _Angel of the Lord_.

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so cut the crap." Dean bites out. My brother looks like he's one step away from snapping, which is all kinds of not good.

I try to hover closer to him without actually looking like I'm hovering at all. I'm not sure what I would do if Dean did attack Castiel. Stop him? Throw myself in the line of fire if Castiel does decide to kill Dean? It all sounds a bit dramatic to be honest. Can't we all just get along?

No. The answer to that is no. Not if you're Dean Winchester. And I can only guess that an Angel would be similarly stubborn if it came down to it.

It is a sad day when the nineteen year old has to play diplomat between his older brother and an Angel of the Lord just so they won't get into a cosmic slap fight.

"What Dean means is," I say, ignoring the warning look from Dean to 'shut the hell up', "would you mind telling us exactly why an Angel would rescue him from hell? Not that you shouldn't have, because he's my brother and an epic human being-"

"Kid-" Dean tries to interrupt, but I plow on dauntlessly.

Castiel is staring at me again. I don't think he's blinked once since he got here. Creepy. And intense as fuck. Castiel's entire being seems to be completely focused on me. I try not to take that personally as I'm pretty sure he was doing the same thing to Dean a second ago. Maybe it's an Angel quirk. To soul-stare someone to death.

I find myself staring back at him. Again. Our eyes lock and it's like being punched in the heart with a massive ice cube. I suppress a shiver, because that would be lame, even for me.

"-but people don't usually get saved from hell by Angels, so I've got to assume there's a reason this time." I finish on a long breathe.

Castiel does that head tilt thing again. Eyes sparking with that inhuman flicker of blue flames.

"There is a reason." Castiel says, his voice going even darker, deeper, grittier.

"And that reason would be?" Dean prompts suspiciously.

"I saved you from hell because God commanded it." Castiel tells Dean, but his eyes never leave mine.

Dean sucks in a breathe of disbelief.

"Why?" I demand, for the first time getting truly angry.

Castiel takes a step closer to us and I resist the urge to back the fuck off. Not out of fear, well, alright, not completely out of fear, but also because something about Castiel makes me nervous. And I don't do nervous. Not even on hunts. Keeping a cool head under pressure is something I've always been pretty good at. But this...this is different. Castiel is different. And I don't think it's just because of the Angel thing.

Castiel speaks once more, and it feels like a gauntlet being thrown down by _someone_ ,

"Because God has work for Dean Winchester."

Well...shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know! x


	3. Yo, God, it's Adam Winchester again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam really fucking hates ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any inaccuracies in lore, folks, or just anything I get wrong at all. There are thirteen plus seasons of this show now. I stopped watching it religiously in season nine. Please take any changes as creative licence. 
> 
> Also, some dialogue I'm lifting directly from the show. Be warned.

"Look, all I know is that I was not _groped_ by an Angel." Dean grouses adamantly.

"Then what else could it have been? Why would this...'Castiel', or whatever, lie to you?" Sam asks, clearly becoming more and more exasperated by Dean's stubbornness.

We're back at Bobby's place. Bobby and I are researching, which basically means reading through a batch of mouldy books about supposed Angel lore until our eyes start to cross. Sam and Dean have been arguing about the validity of Castiel's Angel status for the last hour.

I get why Dean's so against the idea of Angels. He doesn't want to believe that there's any such thing as God and Angels, because if they do exist, then that brings to mind a very dangerous question; Where the hell have they been whilst all the bad shit in the world has been going down?

For Dean there are three things that definitely exist:

One, monsters that kill people.

Two, people who need saving from the monsters that try to kill them.

Three, hunters who kill the monsters to save the people the monsters are trying to kill.

Anything else is a load of bullshit for kids and preachers.

Sam is on the other side of the spectrum entirely. He's always believed in God the almighty and all the crap that goes along with that. Now isn't the first time my brothers have argued about this kind of shit. But this _is_ the first time that we've had to deal with it on a non-theoretical level.

Whatever he actually is, Castiel is real, and at the moment I'm leaning towards 'Angel' rather than 'unidentified package'. I've never considered myself religious, but if Demons and hell exist then it stands to reason that other biblical things could also exist in some form.

Not that it matters what I think. Dean is still pissed at me for daring to make nice with Castiel, which is fair. Sam is pissed at Dean for taking me along to the Shack Of Doom last night in the first place. I have to agree with that as well, I could have done without being **Stared** at by a simultaneously terrifying and weird-hot possible cosmic being in a beige coat.

I don't need that shit in my life.

I ignore Dean and Sam's bickering and turn back to my Angel research instead. Research is the most boring part of hunting, but it's also the part that's most likely to save your life. Knowledge is power and with great power comes great responsibility and blah blah blah. Just like Spider-Man taught us.

When my brother's 'fight', otherwise known as high level assholery, gets a bit heated, Bobby grumbles at me,

"The world could be fallin' down 'round our ears and your idjit brothers would still be bitchin' at each other about somethin'."

True. So true.

"Just tune 'em out, man. Like bad TV." I say.

Bobby half-scoffs, half-laughs at that. He hasn't taken his eyes off the book he was reading. Neither have I. Even so, I'm pretty sure we're wearing matching expressions of contented mirth.

See, Bobby and I kind of have our own thing. Arguably Dean is Bobby's favourite. Sam and I both know that. But I think I'm the one Bobby feels the most comfortable around. I'm not as high strung as either of my brothers. I also don't cause as much trouble. I'm just John Winchester's extra kid. Not too bull-headed. Not too angry about being raised into The Life. Just Adam. Maybe a bit too gay for my Dad's liking. I'm not sure if John actually would have given a shit. But I followed Dean's orders anyway and never told Dad about the bisexuality thing.

Bobby knows, I think. He's never mentioned it. But I wouldn't really expect him to. So. There's that.

After a while of Bobby _pretending_ to ignore my brothers sniping at each other and me _actually_ ignoring them, Bobby finally seems to have had enough. He should try spending hours without end with those assholes in the enclosed space of the Impala. It's like being trapped inside an exploding Jack in the box that could blow at any moment.

But a lot more annoying than that.

"You two idjits just about done over there?" Bobby grouses at Sam and Dean. "Because I think I've actually got something here."

My brothers abandon their argument to come and look at the book Bobby is brandishing like a prize.

Bobby gives us all a Shut The Fuck Up Or I'll Hit You With An A Thousand Year Old Book glower before speaking.

"I have enough lore to be gettin' on with. Some biblical, some pre-biblical-"

"He's even got some rocks with squiggly drawings of stick men and furry mammoths on them in his desk drawer." I say with mock enthusiasm.

Bobby hits me over the head with a dusty book. His glowers are very specific and I'm never wrong about them.

Bobby carries on talking like I never interrupted him.

"Some of it is contradictory, but one of the consistent bits of information is the fact that Angels can snatch a soul from Hell."

"What else can do it?" Dean demands.

"Give your ass a free ride out of the pit?" Bobby shrugs. "As far as I can tell, nothin'."

"Dean, don't you get it?" Sam says, looking frighteningly eager. That usually means he's about to get all nerdy and excited about something. "This is a good thing."

It's never a good thing.

"How?" Dean and I both ask at the same time. Then we share a look that clearly means 'lets mutually agree never to do that again' 'agreed' 'right, good'.

"Because I'd rather take a chance on a possibly good Angel than deal with another round of Demon crap." Sam says.

"Ok. Fine." Dean says in the same tone someone else might use to say 'fuck' and 'you'. He grits his teeth. "Even if angels are real, and that's a big freakin' _if_ , does that mean there's a **God**?"

"Yeah to one usually indicates yeah to the other." I say.

Dean starts freaking out then about why God would give a crap about him personally because he sucks, like a lot, and doesn't God realise that my brother has the self-esteem of a suicidal cartoon lion?

"I'm just a regular guy." Dean says with almost painful desperation.

"Well apparently you're important enough to the man upstairs to get a lift out of hell, Dean." Sam says with all the conviction of a tween talking about their otp.

"That's freakin' creepy." Dean says, making a very disgruntled face. "I don't want to be singled out by _God_."

"I feel you, big bro." I say, shaking my head. "I mean, what if he wants you to build a big boat or something? You can't build a boat. You don't have the technical skills required for that shit. And even if we wanted to go for plan B, there's no way a hippo or a giraffe would fit inside the Impala."

Sam hides a smile behind one of his overly large hands. Bobby snorts. Dean gives me a very Sam-esqe bitchface.

"I'm really glad all of this is funny to you." Dean huffs pissily. "Brat."

"Dick." I reply without missing a beat whilst grinning up at my brother innocently.

"Whatever." Dean says, shrugging it off and moving on quickly. "Alright, so what do we know about Angels anyway?"

Bobby points at the books stacked up next to me on the desk.

"Sit your asses down next to your brother and start readin' boys."

...

And now there are fucking _ghosts_.

Bobby asked me and my brothers to help him check out the home of a hunter who wasn't returning his calls. We found her dead on the floor of her living room. Her chest was very much ripped open, in a way that heavily suggested she didn't just trip on a piece of lego and accidentally cut herself on a loose nail.

It didn't take long for us to realise that this is definitely a Thing. Ghosts are killing off hunters for some god damn reason.

Sam was attacked by Henrikson, an old frenemy of ours.

Henrikson wasn't a bad guy. But he got caught in the crossfire, and _boom dead_ , because getting involved with Winchesters is apparently a Bad Idea if you want to remain alive these days.

When we got back to Bobby's place, Dean was attacked by the spirit of the woman who that Demon Meg bitch possessed. Bobby himself was even cornered by two little girl ghosts who he couldn't save on a hunt gone wrong.

We fought the vengeful ghosts off, but we knew that wouldn't last.

I haven't personally been Casper-jumped yet, and I'm dreading it.

I'll be real with you here, I _hate_ ghosts. I hate ghosts like Dean hates witches. I hate ghosts like Sam hates clowns. I hate ghosts like Bobby hates people who ask him stupid questions (or just, you know, _questions_ ).

My first solo hunt was a ghost who lured people into an abandoned house and set them on fire. I wasn't even supposed to be involved in the hunt, but Sam was already away at school, Dad was off god only knows where, and Dean got himself arrested for breaking and entering into the house where the ghost was supposed to be.

Dean was kept in the drunk tank over the weekend, which meant that I was on my own. I came back to the motel we'd been staying in after my second day of temporary school to find Dean gone. At first I thought he was just late, but I knew Dean would never leave me alone for a whole night like that.

I realise now that Dean must have been losing his shit big time. He used his one phone call to try and contact me, but the shitty motel's electricity was down, which meant no working phone lines. It would have been fine if I still had my mobile phone, but on my first day of temporary school some dickhead with a problem tried to start shit with the new kid. I kicked his ass, but not before The Dickhead took my bag with my phone inside and threw it into a lake just outside the school gates.

My phone was drowned and useless by the time I got my bag back. Dean was meant to get me a new one the next day, but shit obviously went sideways before that could happen.

It didn't take long for old insecurities to take hold of me. Even though I knew it was stupid, I couldn't let go of the idea that Dean had taken off and left me on purpose. I thought maybe he decided he wanted a better life. A life that could only be better without me in it. Like my Mom. Like Sam.

I knew then, just like I know now, how unfair that thought was. But at the time I couldn't shake it.

I told myself that the only other explanation was that something bad had happened to Dean. I didn't really want to consider that idea at first because Dean getting hurt on a hunt scared me just as much as the thought of him abandoning me.

But eventually I had to face the fact that one of my worst nightmares had to be true, and I trusted Dean more than anyone else in my life. I was sure he wouldn't leave me alone. I had no real choice but to accept that something had happened to Dean when he went to check out the 'haunted house'.

Once that was decided, I did something only a Winchester would think was a good idea.

I knew some stuff about the hunt Dean was on. I knew where the monster was supposed to be, and that the monster was a ghost. Dean had been training me for years by that point, teaching me everything he could about hunting. He'd taken me along on hunts plenty of times. So, like an idiot, I thought I could handle it just fine.

The smart thing to do would have been to call Dad or Bobby, or hell, even Sam, and ask for help. But my first instinct was to tackle the problem head on by myself.

I was scared, but that didn't matter, not if my brother needed me.

I went to the house with a gun full of salt bullets and an iron crowbar. It was the shittiest idea I've ever had, which is really saying something. I didn't even really have a plan other than the obvious 'save my brother and don't get killed by the monster' thing.

I failed to save Dean, since he wasn't actually there, but I did succeed in not being burnt to a crisp by Thomas Mahoney, the very not friendly pyro ghost. I got a good look at the ghost's face before I escaped the house, and after a brief search at the local library, I knew who the ghost was. Once I found that out it wasn't hard to locate Mahoney's grave in the local graveyard.

Digging up a grave by myself at age thirteen was definitely a challenge though. It took fucking forever, and I had so many blisters on my hands from gripping the shovel. 

I don't know why I felt the need to finish that hunt. Maybe it was to distract me from worrying about what had happened to Dean. Or maybe, like my brothers, I find it almost impossible to walk away from a hunt without seeing it through to the end.

Either way, I got it done, and that night I salted and burnt Mahoney's bones.

Afterwards, I went back to the motel. Dean was waiting there for me. Or, more accurately, he'd been released from the police station and came looking for me. He freaked out when he realised I wasn't at the motel, and I swear he almost cried when I walked into that motel room smelling like smoke and covered in graveyard dirt.

Luckily Dean hadn't reached the 'call Dad' stage of panicking yet. Dad would have ripped Dean a new one for getting arrested and letting me hunt a ghost by myself. Even though none of that was technically Dean's fault.

Bobby, my brothers, and I are gathered together in Bobby's living room surrounded by weapons. We're discussing exactly how boned we are on the psycho ghost front. The short answer is: boned to the power of screwed.

Sam is pacing up a storm whilst Dean is concentrating all of his pent up frustration on cleaning and loading his multiple guns. Because suppressed emotions and weaponry go together like butter on toast for my crazy-ass family.

"So they're all people we know?" Sam says mid-giraffe stomp.

"Far as I can tell, they're people we couldn't save." Dean says. He frowns down at his gun. "I saw something on Meg. Did she have a tattoo when she was alive?"

Meg, the Demon bitch, oh how I've missed her. We had such good times together. Like when she tried to choke me to death the last time we met. Fuck Demons, man. They're all so smarmy and way too fucking human sometimes. It makes me uncomfortable to think that they actually were human once. Before hell twisted them up and made them into something else. I wonder if Dean came close to-

Yep, that thought is gonna need to go back into the mental box that exists inside my head, alongside all of the other things I Never Ever want to think about. Like if my Mom is still alive. Or if my Dad actually wanted me around all those years. Or when I'm gonna get up the courage to tell Dean and Sam that when this ghost bullshit is over I'm leaving to go back to hunting with Jo.

That last one I'm gonna have to face sooner rather than later. Hopefully. Unless someone I couldn't save comes back to fuck me up.

Thing is, Jo and I started going on hunts after Dean went to hell.

Honestly, I was a freakin' mess for those four months. Bobby tried to help, but he just didn't know what say, which was fair game because there really was nothing he could have said anyway. And Sam was busy drowning in his own grief and anger.

When Dean died I realised how intertwined our lives had become over the years. I'd gotten so used to the idea that Dean would always be there, that when he was gone, I didn't know what to do with myself.

It wasn't until Jo Harvelle forced her way into my motel room and demanded I help her take down a nest of vampires that I got off my ass and stopped feeling sorry for myself.

Jo had originally been looking for Sam when she called to offer us a vamp hunt she'd been tailing. But Sam was busy with Ruby...playing Pictionary, or whatever the fuck it is those assholes do together when they aren't waking me up with their creepily loud demon sex.

Anyway, Jo drove over to the motel I was staying at that night and literally kicked open my door. Because she's a very strange person. And she's also my best friend for that very reason.

Jo took one look at me moping alone in that room and dragged me out with her to go behead some vampires.

When she found me I was curled up on a suspiciously crunchy bed with my hood up and eating Oreos in the dark whilst listening to sad music that was completely irrelevant to my actual personal sadness. Because I am a youth and that is what my people fucking do.

At that particular moment I was also using a torch to read a YA fantasy novel. I could have just turned on the light instead of using a torch, but then I would have had to get up, and that seemed like an unacceptable sacrifice at the time.

I read YA books when I'm sad because there are a million of them, despite the fact that they're all basically the same fucking story. The one I was reading that day was about a special snowflake teenage girl who really wanted to bang an unrealistically attractive wizard-werewolf-vampire-angel-elf-whateverthefuck and possibly save the world or something. It made no sense and the main character was annoying and even though the _wizardwerewolfvampireangelelf_ (I believe his name was something like 'Fang' or 'Starling' or 'Chadwick' or, ugh, ' _Kyle_ ') was an asshole, I also found myself kind of wanting to bang him. I loved it. They're all fucking dumb and awful and I love all of them and I'm not sorry, so eat me.

After that first vampire hunt Jo and I started low-key hunting together. Ellen and Sam weren't happy about it, but there was fuck all they could do. We had a car, a shitload of weapons, and a need for monster annihilation. So.

Since Dean got back from hell I haven't had the time, or the stones to be honest, to tell him about my break for freedom.

Jo kept texting and calling me, but I put her off for as long as I could. Last night I finally bit the bullet and talked to her. We agreed that she would come to Bobby's house tomorrow to pick me up. She already has another hunt lined up for us to look into a few states over.

Dean is still talking about Meg's new body art.

"It was a mark, almost like a brand."

Something appears to click inside Sam's head.

"I saw a brand like that on Henrikson." He says.

"What did it look like?" Bobby asks gruffly.

Sam shazams a pen and pad out of nowhere. I assume he learnt how to do that at Stanford during a 'how to make basic office equipment appear out of thin-fucking-air' 101 class.

He draws a squiggle on the pad and flashes it at Dean. Dean nods and says,

"That's it."

Bobby takes a look at it and says,

"I might have seen this before." Then he bumbles off to grab another dusty book from our collection.

Huzzah for the possibly useful squiggle!

Then the lights start fucking around and Bobby shoves some more books into my arms. Dean throws one of his precious guns at Sam.

"We gotta move. Follow me." Bobby says distractedly, still grabbing more books from his shelves.

"Where we goin'?" Sam asks, like the giant tree fort of a person he is.

I lock eyes with Bobby and ask,

"Secret sex dungeon?"

Bobby growls at me,

"It's not a secret sex dungeon, ya idgit."

"Well, no, not once you show these assholes." I jerk my chin at Dean and Sam. "Then it'll just be a _known of_ sex dungeon."

Bobby just clocks me over the head with a book and doesn't respond.

Dean and Sam look confused, but before they can ask any questions Bobby quickly hustles all of us down to the basement.

Bobby reveals his one-weekend-only paranoia project. Dean and Sam wander around touching shit in awe for a few minutes.

Sam looks at Bobby and asks,

"You built a panic room?"

Bobby lifts and drops one shoulder in a uncaring half shrug.

"I had a weekend off and a restless teenager on my hands." He points a finger in my direction.

Dean turns a displeased look on me. He says accusingly,

"You knew about this and didn't tell us."

I copy Bobby's uncaring half shrug and say,

"It's not _my_ sex dungeon."

I did help Bobby build it though. It was when Sam and Dean left me here to go on a more dangerous hunt. One that Dean didn't want me to be a part of. He said I 'wasn't ready'.

I resented Dean for leaving me behind, and I was pissed at Sam for not backing me up when I yelled at Dean to stop coddling me all the damn time.

Bobby put up with my shitty attitude for about half an hour before he put me to work. I don't think he originally meant for us to build a panic room. It just kinda...happened.

Dean rolls his eyes at me and turns to Bobby with one of the first real smiles I've seen on his face since he got back from hell. He says,

"Bobby, you're awesome."

Bobby looks pleased, and for a moment, I feel like maybe we aren't all screwed.

…..

I'm helping Bobby look through the dusty books whilst Sam and Dean make bullets.

Dean is whining about God being an asshole for not helping humans, and like yeah, of course God is an asshole. That's just Dad's for ya. Or if God is a woman then that's fine, because Mom's pretty much suck too. I do believe that if God does exist, then he's a Dad though. Just another runaway father.

You'd think Dean would be used to being disappointed by an absent parent who gives out orders and never really explains himself.

I don't expect anything from anyone who you're supposed to expect shit from. That's how I make sense of the whole God situation.

My Mom left me, and my Dad was barely around. It makes perfect sense to me that God wouldn't give half a shit about abandoning his kids too.

Being a parent, or just an adult in general, doesn't make you automatically fair or strong or right. About anything really. We're all just making it up as we go, and sure it's scary to think that a whateverheis as powerful as God would be doing the same. But it also comforts me on some level. It makes me more willing to forgive his mistakes. If he's like us. If he's struggling to make sense of the universe and his place in it, just like everyone else.

I bet he's lonely. And I bet it sucks being God. I bet it sucks being hated and loved and feared and trusted and never actually known by anyone.

Or maybe he's not lonely. Maybe he has friends. The thought of God hanging out with friends makes me want to smile. Because its sort of ridiculous and sort of perfectly plausible at the same time.

I can't smile though, or Dean will think I'm not taking his God angst seriously, and then I'll have to put up with him _grrr_ -ing at me for the rest of the day.

It takes me a moment to realise that I've found The Squiggle in one of Bobby's books. I shove it over into Bobby's lap and say,

"Found your squiggle. It's a-"

"Mark of the witness." Bobby finishes for me, squinting down at the page I've put in front of him.

Dean and Sam make 'huh' faces at us and Bobby goes on to explain that they're basically ghosts who died weird deaths and were forced to rise by some asshole we don't know.

"Who ever it was who raised these ghosts meant business. He must have big plans." Bobby says.

"It's called the rising of the witnesses." I say, looking back down at the book. "There's some bullshit prophecy." I tap the book pointedly.

"Woah, woah." Dean says, getting up and coming over to frown in the book's general direction. "What book is that?" He asks me.

"It's a big fancy-ass version of the Bible." I say.

"The prophecy is from the Book of Revelation." Bobby corrects me. Then he gets all ominious on us. "This is a sign boys." He says.

"A sign of what?" Sam and Dean ask.

Bobby leans back in his chair and says,

"The Apocalypse."

Yep, fun times.

There's a dramatic pause, and then,

"So. Just to be clear." I say drolly. "It's bad."

Sam throws me an exasperated look. Dean snorts. Bobby hits me with a book again.

I grin back at all of them.

Like I said. Fun. Times.

That's what being a Winchester is all about.

…..

Once Dean and Sam are done freaking out about, you know, the Apocalypse and stuff, Bobby tells us about a spell that will _hopefully_ stop the revenants.

The bad news is that we don't have what Bobby needs in the sex dungeon, so we have to out there and face the crazy hunter-killing dead people. Hurray! Road trip.

We don't waste much time thinking about it before loading our weapons and leaving the safe room.

Dean tries to get me to stay behind, but I ain't having any of that shit. Not anymore. I can handle myself. And even if I can't, this is not the time to be arguing about it. Dean can wrap me up in cotton after we deal with the pissed off Casper tribute acts.

We make it to the living room relatively unscathed and get to work making it ghost proof whilst Bobby sorts out the spell.

Bobby sends Sam off to get a hex box from upstairs, and Dean to gets some stuff from the kitchen. He shoves a piece of chalk at me and says,

"Draw this." He points at a complicated picture from his book.

I don't hesitate to start drawing strict lines of chalk on top of Bobby's desk.

Two little girl ghosts pop up outside the salt circle and openly taunt Bobby about not being able to save them. I can feel the tension coming off Bobby in waves, but picks up his gun and shoots the girls anyway.

Bobby is Bobby. Tougher than all of us.

When the doors between the living room and the office slam closed, a ripple of panic makes it's way through me. I look to Bobby worriedly and call out,

"Dean, what the hell?"

"I'm fine, Kid, keep working on the spell." I hear Dean call back from the kitchen.

I'm still looking at Bobby, waiting for his call. He wavers for a moment before nodding at me. I reluctantly go back to what I was doing to get the spell ready.

Fear for Dean still twists up my insides. I think about how I couldn't handle it if he died. If I lost him again. He's the only person in my family who's never left me for something more important. I can't lose him.

About a minute later I hear Dean cry out and I move to go around the desk. I already have my gun in my hands, ready.

Bobby makes a grab for me, and I make to yank out of his hold. But then there's a gunshot from the kitchen and both Sam and Dean come out of the kitchen together. I didn't even notice Sam come back downstairs. I was too distracted listening for sounds of distress from the kitchen.

Sam and Dean bring over the rest of the stuff we need and Bobby lets go of me to take it from them. He immediately starts throwing shit into a big bowl.

I can't stop myself from grabbing hold of Dean.

"Are you ok?" I ask him, sounding a bit too desperate.

Dean tugs me into a short embrace and claps me on the back before pulling away again.

"I'm fine, Kid." He says, looking me in the eye so I'll know he's not lying.

A coil of relief forms in my stomach and I let go of my oldest brother.

After that it's a flurry of activity and random ghosts showing up to threaten us outside the salt circle and Bobby barking at us to hurry the hell help and get out of his way.

When Bobby speaks the right words for the spell, all of his windows crash open and a harsh wind blows inside. It fucks up the salt line.

Dean, Sam and I all have our guns held tightly in our hands.

Bobby keeps going with the spell as we fire our weapons at the ghosts of Meg and Henrikson and Ronald and this boy named Evan who I failed to save on my first werewolf hunt.

Evan was a good kid. He had blue eyes and a bright smile and he loved his little sister and his Mom. He called out for them as he died. I see his face in my dreams sometimes. I see him laughing. I see him screaming. I accepted years ago that I would never be ok about it.

I've learnt in my relatively short life, that some hunts just never leave you. They mark you, like scars that no one else can see.

They all come one after the other, the ghosts, never going away for more than a few seconds each time we shoot them. It’s too much, too fast, and we just keep firing again and again and again.

It's a close call when we run out of bullets and one of the ghosts goes after Bobby. But Dean saves the bowl of crap and throws it into the lit fireplace. The fire flares blue and the ghosts turn to ash with a group scream that sends chills up and down my spine.

I go to my knees next to Bobby on the ground and help him to get up. Dean is on our other side checking Sam over since he was practically throw across the room by a ghost.

We all exchange looks and I say,

"Well fuck me sideways."

They all make sounds of agreement.

….

Later that night, I'm sitting out on the porch.

Dean and Sam are sleeping on the sofa/floor inside, and Bobby's gone up to his room.

I tried to get some sleep, but I couldn't do it. My mind was racing too much, I guess. I haven't been sleeping all that well since Dean died. I thought maybe it would get better now that he’s back, but apparently not.

I have a slowly warming beer in one hand and a lighter in the other. An unlit cigarette is tucked behind my left ear. I'm not much of a smoker, not in the last year anyway, but apparently literal impending doom stresses me out enough to make me crave nicotine again.

Right now I'm just wasting time looking up at the sky and trying my best not to think too hard about what the mess of this whole day means for me and my family.

I'm sitting near one of the kitchen windows, so even though I'm sitting outside I still the hear voices of Dean and someone else when they start up. I don't catch the words, but I don't need to really. The tone says it all. Dean is pissed at whoever he's talking to. And it isn't Sam. Or Bobby. I would recognise their voices, even muffled.

It must be Castiel.

I think about going inside to check and see if Dean's alright. But I figure if Dean's fighting with an Angel then I don't really want any part of it. I doubt Castiel will actually kill Dean after he went to so much trouble to retrieve him from hell. And even if he did want to kill Dean, I imagine there's fuck all I could do about it.

I'm not Dean, or even Sam. I don't think I can take on any monster and win by sheer force of will or research. I know my limitations. Angel killing is way above my pay grade.

I would still fight though, if had to. To protect Dean, I'd do pretty much anything.

I am a Winchester. And Winchesters fight and fight and fight and fight until we die. It is what it is.

The voices from the kitchen die off after a while, and I'm not sure why, but I'm not even a little bit surprised when my eyes shift to the right and I see Castiel. He's standing next to me on the porch, still wearing the same trench coat outfit from before.

I look away from him and keep my eyes trained on the sky. On the stars. It's easier that way, I think.

Neither of us speak for a long time, and I'd say that I almost forget that he's there, but that would a lie. It's impossible to ignore Castiel. I don't know if it's because he's an Angel or if it's something else altogether. He feels like a storm. I can smell the rain, feel the bite of the wind, hear the crack of thunder and see the lighting arc through the sky. Being this close to him reminds me of getting caught out in the middle of hurricane.

Casitel is a hurricane trapped inside a human shaped bottle.

I know what happens if that bottle cracks. People get their eyes burnt out. But what would happen if it broke completely? What if someone smashed the bottle? Would that storm tear me apart? Would that hurricane take me away? Drown me. Consume me.

Or would I just die.

Just die, probably.

I don't ask Castiel any of that. Either he wouldn't answer or he wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about. Which is a funny idea. An Angel. Who doesn't understand.

It's enough to make me laugh.

That seems to catch Castiel's attention, although why he's still here at all, I really don't know.

I can feel those eyes on me. Those blue, _blue_ , eyes. Burning into me like dying stars.

"You are... laughing." Castiel says in that same gravel choked voice that I remember. He says it like he doesn't even really know what it means. Like laughing is a concept he can't quite comprehend.

"Yes." I say, in answer to a question he didn't actually ask.

"At what?" Castiel asks, and his voices changes only slightly. From gravel to scraped metal.

"You." I say, like it's obvious. Because it is. What could be funnier than an Angel who stands on a porch and asks questions of a human? A hunter. The one Winchester brother who no one is interested in. And thank fuck for that. I've never been so glad to be unimportant.

"Why?" Castiel asks, and this time he sounds almost...indignant. Are Angels even allowed to _be_ indignant?

I decide not to answer and instead ask a question of my own.

"What did you talk about with Dean?"

I'm still not quite looking at him, but I can hear the frown in his voice when he replies,

"Your brother is...very... _difficult_."

This time I really do laugh. Loudly. Because it's fucking hilarious.

My brother, my big brother, Dean Winchester, has managed to mildly irritate a _cosmic being_. Most likely just by being his usual frustrating self.

"What'd you say to piss him off?" I ask. It's not like Dean would need a reason to yell his outrage at an Angel, or anybody, but I'd still like to know what might have tipped my brother over the edge this time.

There's a pause then. I wonder if Castiel will respond at all. I think maybe he'll just go, the same way he just...appeared.

I'm not one of those people who need the answers to everything. Some people need to ask and they need to know and they need to go in search of answers to their many, many questions. But not me. I know my place. I know who I am, or at least who I'm becoming, and I don't need to know anything else. I may ask those same questions inside my head, but I don't need someone to actually answer them.

I'm not Sam, who likes to dig deeper into things and understand them inside and out.

I'm not Dean, who likes his world to be ordered into what he knows is right and what he believes is wrong.

I'm just me. Adam Winchester. And I'm the one who likes to move through my life expecting nothing much and conversely being ready for anything thrown my way.

It's not easy, but it's how I stay sane. It's how I stay strong enough to handle what I've done and what I've seen and the holes left behind inside me by the people I've lost.

We all have our ways. Dean has sex and alcohol and us. Sam is like Dad, all he needs is a purpose, some kind of mission, to keep on going.

As for me...I have my indifference.

Castiel speaks again, and I listen. But my eyes are still on the stars above us.

"Your brother asked why we did not help you today."

I tilt my head in a slight nod.

"Guessing you told him you had other shit to do."

Castiel doesn't say yes, but he doesn't need to. His silence is enough to confirm that, yeah, the Angels were kinda busy doing whatever Angels do when they aren't hanging around on porches or saving people from hell.

"Don't take it personally." I tell Castiel. "My brother being 'difficult', I mean." I finally turn to look at Castiel. He's standing there, looking just as rumpled and impossible and frightening as he did the first time I saw him.

"Personal?" Castiel says, like he's tasting the word. His eyes fall on my face, and it takes a lot of will power not to look away from those eyes.

"Dean gets upset when he feels overwhelmed." I say. "And all of this." I make a waving motion with my hand. "It's too much. It'd be too much for anyone, probably. But Dean, he...takes things to heart." I narrow my eyes slightly at Castiel. He's watching me impassively, but I don't care about that. I want to explain it, even if the Angel won't understand.

I say,

"If you tell Dean he needs do something to save people...he will take that on. And if it goes wrong, he will blame himself more than anyone. That's why he doesn't want to accept whatever you're saying. Because accepting it would mean risking failure. And for Dean, failure turns into guilt, and that guilt becomes a part of him. It becomes a part of who he is."

Castiel is still looking at me; staring at me with that unfathomable look on his face. But he's listening. Which might mean something. Or not.

"There's only so much of that you can take before it becomes _all_ that you are." I say to Castiel. And maybe it's a warning.

I close my eyes. It's a lot. To keep looking at him. To watch him watch me. To stare into the heart of a hurricane and not flinch back. It's just...a lot.

"Why are you out here with me?" I ask when the silence stretches between us for too long.

There's no answer from the Angel.

I'm not surprised when I open my eyes and find that Castiel is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Let me know if you liked this chapter :) x


	4. Cheerleaders Are Evil: Confirmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam goes on a familair hunt with Jo.
> 
> We meet one of Castiel's winged posse.
> 
> Witches get stitches. Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural. So stop spreading that rumour please.
> 
> A/N-This chapter is 'heavily' based on Supernatural's season 5 episode 7 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester', but with Adam and Jo kicking ass instead.

"Ok. So. Run this by me again." Jo says, flexing her hands on the steering wheel of our car. She throws me one of her infamous snarky eyebrows. Don't ask me how an eyebrow can be snarky, it just is.

"Jo, fuck off. Don't start." I say with a put upon sigh.

"Come on, humour me, Winchester." Jo says. She looks far too amused, considering the fact that we've just pulled up outside a house where a man who used to live there died via swallowing candy coated razor blades.

Jo keeps making me tell her the same stupid story over and over again. She called bullshit the first time I tried to explain the existence of Castiel, and Dean's somewhat ominous future role in the coming apocalypse.

I get why, it's not exactly an easy story to believe. Even for a hunter.

But Jo and I have been back hunting together for over a month now, and she eventually accepted my Tales Of Wonder when Dean and Sam and Bobby confirmed it.

I think she just likes to make me talk about Castiel because we got drunk one night a few weeks ago, and I went on a bit of a rant about magic Angel ocean eyes and strangely sexy trench coats. Ever since then Jo doesn't miss a chance to make fun of me for having a weird attraction for a cosmic being.

Emphasis on 'weird'. It's a bit like when you're in high school and maybe you have a thing for your teacher. You know in reality that he/she is never gonna want you back, or at least they shouldn't because of _The Law_ and stuff, but you still imagine what it would be like if they did.

For me it was Mr Evans, my English teacher. Mr Evan's taught at Bishop High in the small town of River Falls, Arizona. He was six foot of nerdy awesome, with his perpetually creased clothing, and his messy brown hair. I daydreamed in class about tugging on that hair mid-make out session.

I attended Bishop High for about three weeks. Dean was off hunting with Dad for a while, and I was left in River Falls. Dad ordered me to stay put and go to school.

Dean promised that he wouldn't be gone long and he called to check in twice a day. I told Dean I wasn't a baby and that he didn't need to act like a helicopter Mom. I didn't mean it though. My own Mom never called when she left me alone, and I liked that Dean cared enough to do it. Even if it was really annoying to be treated like I couldn't behave for a few weeks by myself.

Nothing happened with Mr Evans, obviously, but I did end up fucking around with a girl named Kathy who was in my bio class, so. What is it people say about God closing doors and opening windows?

Anyway, point is, thinking an Angel is hot is the same kinda deal as thinking your teacher is hot. It means absolutely fuck all, because if they did ever actually reciprocate, you'd probably be more freaked out than turned on.

Jo is watching me expectantly with a half smile tugging at her lips. She's such a pain in my ass. I love her.

I thump my head back against the car seat and say,

"Dean was raised from hell by Castiel. He's supposedly important to God for some secret mission involving Lucy the infamous bad boy Angel. There, happy, that's now the three hundred and thirtieth time I've told you the same God damn thing."

Jo purses her lips in a mock pout. Her pale eyes are alight with amusement, likely at my touchy attitude.

"And Castiel is..." Jo makes a rolling gesture with her left hand.

I huff at her, but keep to our script.

"Castiel is an Angel who is possessing some guy." I frown in consideration and add, "Probably some poor, sad, accountant going by his tie."

Jo snorts, flicking some blond hair out of her face and tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

"So he's a guy inside another guy?" Jo says. She wrinkles her nose. "Sounds gay."

I let out an unattractive honking goose laugh.

"Ok, first of all, that was a terrible thing to say, good job. Secondly, Castiel is an Angel, not a guy. Thirdly...you are the worst, seriously."

Jo smiles at me. She looks very pleased with herself.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, at least I don't have a thing for feathers, you freak."

Before I can respond to that, Jo turns off the ignition and hops out of the car like a bunny rabbit on speed. I follow after her, knowing that she will leave me behind if I don't _hurry the fuck up, Winchester, before I get old and die waiting for you_.

Jo is already bounding towards the front door of the Candy Horror House when I close the car door behind me. I roll my shoulders back, loosening out the kinks from driving all night yesterday to get here.

I trail after Jo at a more relaxed pace, hoping to balance out Jo's enthusiasm a little. Jo and I already look like first year college kids, even in our suits. We don't need any help looking too young to be in the FBI. Badges only go so far with some people.

My Sam&Dean phone buzzes in my pocket, and I quickly take it out to read the text. I feel relieved when I see that it's just a status report update. Dean and Sam are dealing with some weird magic wishing well thing in Concrete, Washington. According to Dean's latest message there is a reanimated suicidal teddy bear involved somehow.

Jo and I met up with my brothers a few days ago to touch base and reassure them that I was in fact alive. I didn't mind being fussed over too much though. Mostly because it was such a pain in the ass to get Sam and Dean to let me go off hunting with Jo in the first place.

There was a lot of angry pacing and Dean growling at Sam for allowing me to hunt alone with Jo whilst he was gone. Dead. In hell. Blah. Sam got really defensive about the whole thing. It really didn't help that Dean and Sam were already pissed at each other.

Castiel showed up one night and back to the futured Dean. Dean met young-Mary and young-John and his then living-grandparents and found out that his Mom made a deal with Azazel to bring our Dad back to life, in exchange for an unspecified favour ten years down the line. That unspecified favour turned out to be bleeding demon blood into her second born's mouth.

Well, that's what you get for not reading the fine print, I guess.

Castiel brought Dean back to the present and told him to stop Sam from doing his Demon-be-gone mind shazams, otherwise the Angels would step in and stop Sam for him.

Dean woke me up in the middle of the God damn night to go in search of Sam. I was not pleased about it. I was also not pleased about Castiel semi-threatening my brother. Both of my brothers, actually. It made me kind of want to kick Castiel's ass. If I ever figure out a way to kick an Angel's ass without dying horrifically, I might give it a go.

We found Sam with Ruby messing around with some possessed asshole. Dean, predictably, lost his shit and tried to kill the Demon bitch, a plan I would have been in total support of under different circumstances. But Sam actually cares about Ruby, which makes killing her right in front of him a Bad Idea.

Ruby took off with the formerly possessed guy, and I had to go back to the motel with a strung out Sam and a furious Dean. Then I had to watch them yell at each other pointlessly for ten minutes, whilst Dean broke shit all ragey.

Many a cheap lamp died that night.

I only got involved when Dean said something that pushed it from a fight to a personal attack.

_"If I didn't know you, I would want to **hunt** you."_

That's when I got in-between them and demanded that Dean take a fucking walk. Dean was still hyped up for a fight, but he let me shove him towards the door. He slammed out of the motel room like his name was Alfred and he was finally done dealing with Batman's shit.

I sat with Sam afterwards and told him what happened with Dean and Castiel. I'd gotten the whole story from Dean earlier. Dean mostly swore with every other word and said ' _fucking Angel dickholes_ ' about a thousand times, but I got the gist anyway.

Sam was obviously upset and I tried my best to mediate, even though it isn't my strong suit.

_"He didn't mean it, Sam." I say, rubbing Sam's shoulder in what I hope is a comforting manner. "You know how Dean is. He just says shit sometimes. He'll be sorry about it later. He won't actually say he's sorry, because he's a dick, but he will **be** sorry."_

_"Not this time." Sam says. He's got that kicked puppy look on his face again, damn it. He stares sadly at the floor. "He meant it. Dean thinks I'm a freak. A monster."_

_"Bullshit." I say, shaking my head adamantly. "You're our brother, Sam. And yeah, the magic mind powers are fucking strange, ok. But you're trying to help people. I know that. I've always known that. And Dean knows that too. Or he will, when he gets his head out of his ass."_

_Sam snorts humourlessly._

_"Never then." He says._

_"Hey, keep hope alive, Sam." I say, shrugging one shoulder and flicking at Sam's fringe. "Weirder shit has happened."_

_Sam slaps at my fingers and sighs heavily._

_"Maybe." He says, and there is a bit more hope in his voice than there was before. I take that as a win._

Dean came back to the motel eventually, and in true Winchester fashion we didn't talk about it. Well, Dean and Sam sniped at one another and made veiled comments, because they become possessed by teenage girls sometimes. But other than that we moved on, and not long afterwards I told them about me going off to hunt with Jo.

I'd managed to stop Jo from just turning up when we were at Bobby's, but she's a persistent firecracker of a woman, and eventually I had to concede defeat. I told her where we were staying. She must have been keeping tabs on us, because it only took a few hours for her to come barging into our motel room like the Tasmanian devil.

When I explained to Sam and Dean that I was leaving with Jo, neither of them were happy about it. In the end I had to agree to checking in at least once a month in person, as well as daily status update texts.

During my first in person check up, I worked with Sam to find some new cases for us, whilst Jo and Dean sat at the bar. They drank their beers and spent the entire time alternately pretending to flirt with each other, and making bets on which one of them could get the number of the hot girl who was sat on the other side of the bar.

Sam and I found two cases pretty quickly. Dean insisted that he and Sam take the case where a woman was attacked by a ghost in a women's changing room. Because my brother is shameless.

Subsequently, me and Jo took the Halloween candy case, and now here we are.

I sent Dean a quick ' _I'm fine, leave me alone_ ' text before joining Jo on the house's porch. She gives me a knowing look and I roll my eyes in response.

"Your brother's _wuv_ you so much." Jo says mockingly as I ring the door bell. She bumps my arm with her shoulder.

"Shut your face, _Joanna-Beth_." I say, imitating Ellen Harvelle's strict motherly tones.

Jo has no room to talk about overly protective family members. As bad as my brothers can be, Jo's Mom is far worse. Ellen demands daily calls instead of texts, and she even gets me to take pictures of Jo and send them to her just to confirm Jo's 'safe and alive' status.

Jo pokes her tongue out at me, but the door opens a second later, forcing Jo to put on her somewhat professional mask and focus on the victim's wife, Mrs Wallace.

I have to work quite hard to conceal my smirk.

….

"You find anything yet?" Jo asks, throwing herself down on the bed next to me.

I'm sat crossed legged on one of our beds in yet another tackily decorated motel room. I have my laptop open in front of me and a couple of books I stole from Bobby's place.

It took us all of five minutes to find the hex bag at the Wallace's house. It took Jo all of five _seconds_ to upset Mrs Wallace by asking her if Mr Wallace had a girlfriend on the side. Or, more accurately, Jo asked if Mr Wallace was a ' _lying cheater with a thing for creepy women_ '.

I hustled us both out of there as quickly as possible after that.

I love Jo, but her brain to mouth filter can rival Dean's sometimes. I honestly think those two idiots would be perfect for each other if either of them were even remotely capable of maintaining a relationship that lasted for more than a few days.

I've been looking up the contents of the hex bag for the last hour, and as usual when it comes to Witch crap, I'm regretting opening the bag at all.

Witches are so fucking nasty. Seriously.

"Looks like we've got a weird one." I tell Jo. I gesture at the items laid out on the bed. "There's gold thread, which should be impossible because it's a herb that's been extinct for like two centuries." I pick up a dented coin and wave it in Jo's face. "This is Celtic. I think it might actually be genuine, and not the usual dime store crap." I jerk my chin in disgust at the last remaining object. "And that is the charred bone of a new born baby."

"Huh." Jo says, screwing up her nose in distaste and poking at the tiny bone. "Super gross."

"Yep." I say, nodding in agreement. "It's pretty old though. All this stuff is really, really old. Whoever we're dealing with must be pretty powerful." I blow out a frustrated breath and ask, "What did you find out about the victim?"

Whilst I was in full research mode, Jo was out shaking trees to find information about 'Luke Wallace' that could help us.

Jo makes a face.

"Nothing." She says, clearly annoyed at her lack of discovery. "Our dead guy was the all-American dream. Boring as shit with the picket fence to match. Unless he had a very secret double life, I really don't know why anyone would want him dead."

So, we have a really powerful Witch and absolutely no idea where to start looking for who it could be.

Great.

…..

Our Charmed reject strikes again that night. A teenage girl was drowned and boiled when she bobbed for apples.

We head over to the Halloween house party where the second victim died to see if we can get any leads.

I interview a bedraggled, and probably traumatised, cheerleader. She's blond, pretty and useless for our case.

Jo finds another hex bag though, which is something. At least we know they're definitely connected.

Back at the motel, Jo starts looking up details on our newest victim, and I hit the books again.

After a few hours, Jo makes a groaning sound and slaps the laptop closed. She rests her head on the table and says,

"I can't find any connection between the two vics. Please tell me you have something over there in Library Central."

I pick up the latest book I've been going through and bring it over to the table where Jo is sitting. I put the book down and say,

"Actually, I think I do. I think maybe our Witch is working a spell. Look."

I point at the relevant section and Jo reads it out loud.

"Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest."

Jo looks back up at me, frowning.

"If they're going by the Celtic calendar then the final day of the final harvest is-"

"The thirty-first. Halloween." Jo finishes, a small smile of triumph stretching her lips.

I bob my head.

"Yeah. The blood sacrifices are for summoning a Demon. God damn Samhain."

"Shit." Jo says. "That's Mr Celtic God of Halloween himself, right?"

"Sounds like." I say. "This Witch is probably trying to bring him back for some wacky witchy reason. The ritual we're talking about can only be done every six hundred years."

"It must be a big freakin' deal to whoever this Witch is." Jo mutters to herself. "Seems like a lot of effort for one Demon though."

I tap the picture of Samhain holding a severed head and say,

"If what's in this book is even half accurate, then Samhain can raise his own army of Bad Shit once he's been brought back."

"Oh goodie." Jo says sarcastically. "I've always wanted to wage war against an army of monsters at Halloween. I can finally tick that off my bucket list; hunters edition."

I snort at that, and say,

"Ah, well, I've got ganking a Witch at Halloween on _my_ list."

Jo flashes me a mocking grin.

"Awesome, so it's a win-win either way."

….

"Man, I hated High School." Jo says, looking around the art classroom in vague disgust.

Jo and I staked out Luke Wallace's house for a few hours, more out of desperation then anything else. It turned out not to be a waste of time though, because we saw Tracy Davis, the cheerleader I interviewed the night before, go up to the house. It turns out that Tracy is the Wallace's babysitter. When I talked to her she lied and said she'd never spoken to Mr Wallace before.

We figure that means Tracy is probably our Witch. I am genuinely disappointed that she didn't call herself Sabrina. That, at least, would have been funny.

After a bit of research, we found out that Tracy got suspended from school for having a violent altercation with a teacher. We decided to check it out. Just in case. We don't want to accidentally kill an innocent cheerleader. Jo tried to argue that there's no such thing as an innocent cheerleader, but I won out in the end.

"You were a hunter's kid." I say to Jo. "Of course you hated High School. All hunter kids hate High School. Except Sam, but he's weird."

"Yeah." Jo says, smirking a little. "Sam's a total Hermione."

Tracy's teacher, Mr Hardy, comes into the classroom a moment later carrying a box with a mug balanced on top of it. He looks like he's in his mid-thirties to early forties, with long shoulder length brown hair and a messy beard. He's dressed like every High School art teacher in America. Like a hobo who robbed a charity shop.

"Are you the agents who wanted to talk to me?" Mr Hardy asks. "Or are you new students?" He jokes.

Oh Christ.

"Yes, we're from the local FBI field office." Jo says, all proper and professional. She sounds like a kid who stepped out of a college brochure. "I'm Agent Burns," she tips her head at me, "and this is Agent Smithers."

"Thank you for agreeing to talk to us Mr Hardy." I add politely.

"Oh please, call me Don." He reaches out to shake my hand.

No. 'Cool' teacher alert.

"Ok, Don." Jo says, giving me a discreet 'uh oh' look.

"Even my students call me Don." Mr Hardy says. He darts around us to put his box down on an art table.

"I'm sure they do." Jo says, not quite managing to keep the smile out of her voice.

I shoot her a quelling glare, and she rolls her eyes. But when Mr Hardy turns around to face us again, she's back to being a straight faced professional.

"We have a couple of questions for you about a student. Tracy Davis." I say, watching for any giveaway signs from Mr Hardy that Tracy showed him her witchy side.

"Oh, Tracy." Mr Hardy says mournfully. "Bight kid. Very talented. It's a shame that I had to have her suspended."

"We heard that there was some friction between you and Tracy." Jo says pointedly.

"Yes." Mr Hardy huffs, running a hand self-consciously through his hair. "She lost it on me."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I was telling her to tone it down with her art work." Mr Hardy explains. "She kept drawing page after page of these strange symbols and horrid scenes of violence. She even depicted herself in the middle of some of the drawings, participating in disturbing and morbid behaviour."

Fuck yes.

I take a little plastic bag with the Celtic coin from the first hex bag out of my pocket and show it to Mr Hardy.

"Were the strange symbols anything like what's on this coin?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager about it.

Mr Hardy peers at the coin briefly, and nods.

"Yeah, yeah, I think that might have been one of them."

Looks like we've definitely got our Witch.

"Do you have any idea where Tracy is living at the moment?" Jo asks.

"She has her own apartment." Mr Hardy says. When Jo and I frown at him in confusion, he quickly explains, "Tracy showed up about a year ago, alone, as an emancipated teen." He chuckles. "God only knows what her parents were like."

I'm sure Tracy's parents were a real hoot and a half. And probably very evil.

I exchange a glance with Jo. She nods.

It's time to gank ourselves a Witch.

….

We spend the next few hours trying to track down Witchy bitch, but it's like she's fucking dissaperated or some shit.

Jo finally decides that we should go back to the motel and regroup before setting off again, and I agree mostly because I need to call Dean. He keeps God damn texting me about this freaky town with a fucking alcoholic teddy bear and a Chinese restaurant that has it's own evil wishing well. I swear that Dean and Sam only pick up the weirder cases when I'm not around.

Unfortunately, Jo and I don't get a chance to chill for five minutes, because there are now some dickholes in our room.

Jo goes full Die Hard as soon as we open the door. She practically forward rolls into the room with her gun already out.

I grab hold of Jo's arm to stop her from shooting at Castiel, who is sitting on my bed.

It disturbs me that an Angel of the Lord is sitting on a bed that many people have probably banged in over the years. I almost want to shoo him off of it, but he's got his Immovable Cosmic Being face on, so that likely wouldn't go down well.

"Jo, don't shoot." I say hurriedly. "This is Castiel. Shooting at him would be a waste of bullets. Also, I've shot at him before, and no matter what he will carry on staring into the distance like a sociopath from a prison movie. Trust me, it'll get pretty embarrassing for all of us if you try to kill him."

Jo makes a few grumbling sounds, but she holds her fire.

I feel a bit more unsettled when I realise that Castiel has brought a friend with him this time.

Standing behind Castiel is a woman, or more likely an Angel in a female vessel. This new Angel is very attractive, with dark red hair, large brown eyes, and smooth pale skin. She's dressed in a blue and beige suit. Despite the similar clothes, she looks noticeably a lot less haggard than Castiel. I think Castiel looks more like a hot out of work accountant every time I see him. It's oddly distracting.

I jerk a thumb at Annie the Angel.

"You can try shooting at her though. If you really wanna."

At the sound of my voice, Castiel looks up, and those hurricane eyes of his fasten on my face instantly. He stares, unblinking, like the inhuman creature he truly is. That stare reaches down inside me and _tugs_. At my soul, maybe. I'm not sure what an Angel can see from just looking.

Castiel stands up from the Sex Bed and takes a few steps towards me and Jo.

"Hello Adam." Castiel says, with slightly less monotone than I would have imagined. His gaze moves briefly over to Jo and he says, "Joanna-Beth Harvelle."

Jo hasn't lowered her gun. But she looks slightly less likely to open fire, which is good.

"Just Jo is fine, Angel boy." Jo says, and oh my god it sounds so much worse when someone _else_ is being snarky with an Angel.

"Castiel, what are you doing here?" I ask, getting a bad feeling already about what his answer will be.

"This raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?" Castiel asks instead, because Angels are apparently some cryptic motherfuckers.

"We're working on it." I say slowly.

"What's it to you?" Jo demands, narrowing her eyes at Castiel with open hostility.

Castiel continues his one sided staring contest with me.

"You've found the Witch." He says.

"Yeah." I say. "But she looks like a blond teenage cheerleader and this is America. There are a lot of those around. Like I said, we're working on it."

"So she isn't dead." Castiel says in mild disappointment. Or at least it would be if Castiel was human. Fuck knows what 'mild disappointment' translates as for an Angel.

"Your Angel is judging us, Winchester." Jo says, sounding, of all things, _offended_.

"He is not _my_ Angel." I say, because that's clearly what matters in this situation. But really, if anything, Castiel is _Dean's_ Angel.

"The Witch knows who you are." Castiel says, flipping back to his usual rusty monotone. He walks over to my temporary bedside table and opens the drawer to reveal a hex bag.

Son of a bitch.

Castiel turns back to face me and Jo. He does not look overjoyed to be in our presence. Rude. But Angels probably aren't capable of looking 'overjoyed' about anything. Joy is likely on the 'no no' list in the Angel handbook.

"Why do you give a crap about this Witch, Castiel?" I ask. "Is it a stupid Apocalypse thing?"

Castiel glances over at his new partner in Angel-antics, as if asking her for permission.

Angel Annie is watching us with a neutrality that is frankly uncomfortable. She doesn't speak, and apart from her lips slowly thinning into a firm line, she doesn't move either. But Castiel looks away from her after a few seconds, and he nods at me, so he must have gotten the go ahead via Angel telepathy or something.

"Yes. The raising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals." Castiel says.

Called it! Yes!

But also Not Yes, because freakin' Lucifer and shit.

"I cannot believe that this Apocalypse bullshit is actually real." Jo says in horrified awe.

That's when Little Angel Annie decides to pipe up.

"The Apocalypse is not bullshit."

Angel Annie is now doing the staring thing. I wonder if Angels get taught how to stare in Angel school, or whatever the Angel equivalent is in Heaven.

"Yeah, _Jo_." I say with mock indignation. "Fuck, you are so insensitive sometimes."

Jo glares at me.

"I will shoot you." She threatens, waggling her gun in my direction.

The atmosphere in the room changes. It takes me all of two seconds to realise why.

I have found that Angels can be very literal.

Castiel is looking at Jo like she's become an entirely different person. He's looking at her like she's, if not quite a threat, then at least a disturbance in the force.

Jo follows my gaze to Castiel, noticing the obvious shift of power in the air around us.

I see Jo visibly flinch away from the darkness that has seeped onto Castiel's borrowed face, turning it into something inhuman and frightening. His eyes are somehow more blue than they were before, and arctic in temperature. His body language is taught and ready with the ease of a practised soldier. He looks ready and willing to attack.

"That would be...unwise. Adam Winchester is under the protection of the heavenly host and it's garrisons." Castiel says to Jo, his voice dropping into an impossibly low rumble. It sounds like he swallowed a handful of broken glass and nails. It sounds like the purest form of thunder. It sounds like the promise of a swift death riding on the wind.

I do not know what to make of the fact that the scarier Castiel becomes, the harder it is to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It's like standing next to an electric fence. You can hear the unnatural hum of it, and if you hover your hand over the wire then you can feel the potential sensation buzz along your skin. I know logically that it's a suicidal impulse.

But then, so is hunting monsters, and I'm a hunter to my core. I'm also a God damn idiot who needs to stop Dean's Angel from killing my best friend over a joke.

"Castiel." Angel Annie says then, her tone a mixture of intrigued and disapproving.

Castiel backs off ever so slightly at the reprimand, but not much.

"Castiel, seriously, _chill_." I say. Also, "Why am I under the protection of the heavenly whatsits?" I ask, because what the actual fuck? Since when do the Angels give a shit about my personal safety? Dean's safety, I get, because they have 'work' for him, but me? I'm no one to them, and I was kind of hoping to keep it that way.

Castiel finally takes his Death Stare off Jo and looks at me again. His eyes are still that depthless blue, but the coldness is gone.

"Your entire family is of interest to us." Castiel says, like it's obvious and I'm stupid for not knowing that.

"What does that mean?" I ask, pushing it a little more than I know I should. "You better not have any 'work' for me. I don't want to be the next Jesus. You can go ahead and tell your bosses that Adam Winchester is a no 'work' zone. All creepy supernatural plans or special Godly chosen one missions should be reserved for first string Winchesters only."

Seriously, first Azazel has 'plans' for Sam, and now the Angels have 'work' for Dean. Knowing my luck, next year a guild of fucking Elves will show up and insist that it's my ultimate destiny to _save Christmas_.

"We are wasting time." Angel Annie says, cutting off whatever Castiel might or might not have said.

She walks around the bed and comes to stand next to Castiel before speaking again.

"We _must_ stop this seal from being broken."

"Good to know we're on the same page." Jo says, having apparently shaken off her earlier discomfort. She's semi-glaring the Angels down now. "Ok, so you guys tell us where the Witch is hiding and we'll go gank her fake magic ass. Problem solved."

Annie Angel and Castiel exchange a brief glance. It's definitely not a good glance.

"We are not omniscient." Castiel says. "This Witch is very powerful. She's cloaked even to our methods."

"Well that's...majorly unhelpful." Jo huffs.

"Ok, so what's the plan here?" I ask, eyeing Castiel and Angel Annie warily.

Castiel and Angel Annie exchange another one of those significant looks that I'm already beginning to hate.

"All you need to know is that this town is no longer your concern." Angel Annie says. "We only came here to advise that you leave immediately."

"Why would we leave if that Witch is still on the loose?" I ask. My stomach churns with pending dread.

"Our orders are to destroy this town." Castiel says, like that should be enough of an explanation.

"Your 'orders' are to _what_?" Jo shrieks incredulously.

Castiel frowns at Jo. He looks confused. The thousands of years old Angel looks _confused._ Oh my fucking god.

"Our orders are to destroy the town, as I said." Castiel says, as if he genuinely thinks Jo misunderstood him the first time or something.

"She wasn't asking literally, man." I say, rubbing a hand roughly over my face. This is Not Good. This is so very Not Good.

"You can't." Jo says angrily. "You can't kill a whole town full of people."

"We assure you that we can." Angel Annie says calmly, coldly, unmoving and impenetrable. "We have done so before when it was necessary."

"Who the hell are you?" Jo demands. Her left eye is starting to twitch like it does when she gets really pissed off and doesn't have anything to shoot at or stab or set on fire.

"My name is Anna." Angel Annie says, clearly unbothered by Jo's anger.

Jo screws up her nose at 'Anna' and says,

"That is a weirdly ordinary name for an Angel. Please tell me there's an Angel named Bob."

"There is no Angel named Bob." Anna says.

Jo looks immediately disappointed.

I decide to ignore them because _sanity_ , and stuff.

"Castiel." I say, hearing the desperation in my own voice and hating it. "You can't really believe it's right to condemn an entire town of innocent people because of one Witch."

Castiel looks frustrated. Or as frustrated as an Angel is probably capable of looking anyway.

"Lucifer cannot rise." He says, like I'm going to disagree with him about that. Like I'm waving the welcome back Lucy banner or some shit. And he keeps going. "We must prevent this seal from being broken. Nothing else matters more than stopping the Apocalypse."

"There are over a thousand people in this town, damn it." Jo snarls. She's got her gun kicked back up and ready to fire.

"I know this is a regrettable situation." Castiel says, and yeah ok, now I want Jo to shoot him. Even though it won't actually do anything to help.

I lock eyes with the Angel who saved my brother from hell, and say with barely tamed fury,

"Fuck off, Castiel."

Castiel's eyes narrow dangerously, the ice from before returning. I don't give a shit. Right now I'm so pissed that I almost want Castiel to unleash his power on me. I want him to take me on, to even try with that Angel smiting crap. I want to show him what it really means to challenge a Winchester.

But all Castiel says is,

"We have our orders."

If that's how they want it, fine. We can play this game, no problem.

I look at Jo. She's already looking at me. We have a whole conversation without saying a word to each other. Despite all of our bickering and all of our differences, Jo and I have always been united in at least one thing.

I turn back to Castiel, meeting his stare head on. I smile a little. It isn't a nice smile.

I say,

"And we have a job to do."

…..

Castiel and Anna have given us time to take out the Witch. Anna wasn't pleased about it, but Castiel seemed to understand that we accepted the challenge he had unintentionally laid down.

Jo and I climb into our car and sit there for a few seconds in tense silence.

Jo breaks it by saying,

"So...Angels are kind of assholes."

I blow out a breath.

"Yeah. Apparently they are."

Jo acknowledges my response with a slight nod. She sits back in her seat and slaps her hands down onto the steering wheel. I think that maybe Jo will say something else, or possibly rant about how all supernatural creatures suck, even the ones who are supposed to not suck.

But when Jo doesn't speak for a good few minutes, I take the opportunity to get us back on track. I twist a little in my seat to face Jo and say,

"Look, I think maybe our Witch will try to use Mr Hardy as her last sacrifice."

That snaps Jo out of her post-Angel meeting funk.

"Really? Why?"

I shrug one shoulder.

"Honestly? I just have a feeling. She did attack him, and then he got her suspended. You know Witches have a thing for revenge."

Jo tilts her head, considering the idea. After a few seconds she says,

"Ok, it's not like we have many other options. Lets go stake out Mr Hardy's place and hope like hell the Witch will show up."

And so that's what we do.

Staking out is an important part of hunting, and it can be boring as hell. When I do it with my brothers I usually end up reading or cleaning my knives in the backseat whilst my brothers bicker like they're training for the Annoying Brother Olympics.

I don't mind it so much with Jo. She's my best friend for a reason, and we click together surprisingly well during a hunt.

We watch Mr Hardy's house for hours, and I slowly start to panic that I was wrong. What if the Witch is elsewhere killing another innocent person and we're just sitting here doing nothing to stop it?

Before I can voice my fears, Jo says to me,

"I think we should go in."

I scowl at her.

"As in, what? Bust down his door?"

Jo doesn't seems to understand my reluctance.

"Yeah. What if she's already inside? What if she got in some other way? She's a Witch. Witches are sneaky."

I try to argue,

"Jo, we can't just-"

But Jo is already climbing out of the car, and leaving me behind.

I make a sound of frustration and quickly get out after her.

Jo pops open the trunk and grabs her favourite Witch killing gun. She's already got about six knives strapped to her. Jo always has at least four on her at all times.

I recognise the uncompromising stubbornness in her movements and on her face, and I realise there's no point in trying to fight with her over this.

I snatch one of my own guns from the trunk and slam it closed.

I say,

"Alright, lets go possibly traumatise a High School art teacher."

Jo grins at me. I roll my eyes in response.

Luckily it's already dark out, and even though there are children walking around in Halloween costumes with their parents, no one gives me and Jo a second glance as we make our way across the street towards Mr Hardy's place.

I pick the lock at the front door, and a few seconds later we're inside the small house.

Jo and I move slowly through the house, checking the rooms one at a time with our guns drawn, just in case. We communicate with hand gestures we were both taught as the children of hunters.

It doesn't take us long to hear the noise coming from the basement.

There are two voices. One male, one female.

We get a little closer to the basement door and Jo slowly opens it so we can hear the voices more clearly.

I recognise the voice of Tracy the Not-teenage Witch first.

"You can't do this. We were supposed to do the spell _together,_ brother, you son of a bitch."

Then another voice, this one distinctly male.

"We are doing the spell together, _little_ _sister_. You're just taking on a slightly different role than what we originally agreed."

It's Mr Hardy, _Call Me Don_.

I look at Jo with wide eyes. Jo mouths at me ' _holy shit, there's two of them_ '. She holds up two fingers and waves them at me. I nod once in understanding.

I hear 'Tracy' make a sound that is halfway between a snarl and a scream. A second later the sound becomes muffled, probably by some kind of gag.

"We need to move." I whisper to Jo.

Jo doesn't need convincing. She starts walking silently down the stairs, with me following closely behind her.

 _Call Me Don_ and Witchy bitch are apparently too busy with their family drama to notice us coming down the basement steps. I'm convinced that's how my brothers are going to end up being taken out too, one day.

Jo starts shooting before me. Three perfectly aimed shots at Mr Hardy. He goes down hard with three bullet wounds to the chest.

I train my gun on Tracy, who has her arms tied together and elevated above her head by a thick rope. As I guessed, she's been gagged with a dirty rag. Upon seeing her brother's demise, Tracy looks at me with wide, desperate eyes.

I shoot her in the head. Twice. And once in the heart.

You can never be too careful with Witches.

…..

The next morning, I go to get me and Jo some breakfast from the local diner. Jo stays behind in the room to have a shower and pack our stuff, ready to get back out on the road as soon as possible.

We dealt with the bodies of the Witches last night, and decided to sleep in the motel instead of taking off straight away. Neither of us actually got much sleep though.

I couldn't stop thinking about Castiel and Anna. I'd never put much stock in the serenity of Angels, but it still hit home in a weird way that they were willing to kill an entire town of people for the sake of their agenda. It makes me worry even more about their plans for Dean.

I can't help but wonder what such all-powerful creatures could want from my brother. What could they possibly need him to do that they can't do themselves?

The only thing I know Angels _can't_ do without the help of a human is walk around on Earth. Is that it? Do they need Dean to be an Angel's vessel? But if that's the case then why haven't they already asked? And which Angel would need a vessel so specific that they would go all the way to hell to get the right one? It doesn't make any sense, if that's really what this is all about.

I'm still thinking about Angels and their possibly nefarious plans when I park up outside the diner. I go to open the car door, but stop when I hear the now ominous flap of wings to my right.

I try my best not to flinch when I turn my head to find Castiel sitting in the passenger seat. He looks a little bit uncomfortable inside such a small space. I wonder if his invisible wings feel trapped in here. I'm not sure how Angel wings actually work, but I'm guessing they're more a part of Castiel than his vessel is. The real Castiel, I mean. The unfathomable Angel of the Lord Castiel.

"Hello Adam." Castiel says pleasantly. I want to punch him for it.

I just stare at him. See how he likes it.

"You killed the Witch." Castiel says after a while. He's not looking at me, which is more annoying than it should be.

"I'm a hunter." I say, because really, that's all there is. It's the only part of any of this that matters to me.

"You're a Winchester." Castiel says. It sounds both like a commandment and a question in one.

"Yeah." I say. "That too."

There's another pause, and it makes me feel like I'm drowning, like I'm choking on silence and something far more dangerous than fear or rage.

"Our orders-" Castiel starts, and I cut him off, already tired of it. So God damn fucking tired.

"What are you going to do to my brother?" I ask. I don't expect an answer. I never do. So I ask a couple more for the sake of asking. "What do you want from him? What is going on with Sam? Is he a part of this too? How about my Dad, or me? Are we all a part of this somehow? What do you and your _God_ want with my family, Castiel?"

Castiel is looking at me now. I want him to stop. I want to get out of my car and leave the Angel behind. I want to scream at him and demand that he tell me what's really going on.

But I'm transfixed by those eyes. Blue. So blue. They're big, sad eyes. Not the eyes of a warrior Angel. They're too pretty and too clear for a killer with as much blood in his ledger as Castiel probably has.

"I don't know everything, Adam." Castiel says. "They, my superiors, don't tell me much." It's an apology, and a request for understanding.

"I get that." I say, and I really do. At the end of the day, Castiel is a soldier, and soldiers follow orders. I've lived that life before too. Some days, I still am.

I take a breath, and ask,

"Is there anything you _can_ tell me?"

"Do you promise not to tell another soul if I do tell you something?" Castiel counters, his gaze burning into me with an intensity that reveals more than words ever could about how important to him whatever he wants to confess to me is.

"Yes." I say sincerely.

Castiel appears to steel himself, which is interesting. I didn't think Angels could get nervous. It's such a human thing.

"I...have my own questions. I have doubts. I used to think that I knew what was right, and what was wrong. But now...I'm beginning to realise that maybe the lines I've always drawn for myself are more blurred than I thought was possible."

I don't know how I thought Castiel would respond to my request for honesty, but I definitely didn't think he would give me a piece of himself. A piece that no one else in Heaven or on Earth has ever been given before.

It's humbling, and kind of horrifying at the same time.

"Thanks for telling me." I say, knowing full well that it's an inadequate response.

But Castiel just smiles a little, his full mouth quirking up at the side. It's incredible how much that one thing changes his entire face from Foreboding Angel of the Lord, to That Pretty Eyed Nerd With Wings.

"You're welcome." Castiel says. "Adam."

I open my mouth to respond, but just then my phone starts to buzz. I know it's Dean wanting to check in after the radio silence of last night.

I look away from Castiel for a brief moment to take my phone out of my pocket.

There's the sound of flapping wings.

I don't bother looking at the passenger seat, I know that Castiel is gone.

I let out a breath that I didn't even realise I'd been holding in, and I answer the phone.

Dean starts ranting about magic sandwiches and getting beat up by a kid with super strength before I can even say hello.

I lean back in my seat and let the sound of my brother's voice act as my anchor to a world that has gone batshit insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to-twyly56 and WickedTruth28-THANK YOU MY EPIC HUMANY TYPES! x
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and leaving kudos! Please let me know what you thought! x


	5. Meet The Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now let's all say hello to the Angel from the title. Bet you all thought it was Castiel. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha! No!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural. So guys, come on, stop telling people that I do. Not cool.
> 
> Warning: Sex between fully consenting adult types, and slight gore. Not in the same scene though. This isn't that kind of fic, I'm afraid.
> 
> A/N-No lie, folks, I'm gonna be messing with canon a lot in this fic. Be warned. And stuff.

"So, the orderly really has no memory of Michael Vega's escape?" Jo asks sceptically.

Dr Fell clutches her cipboard a little tighter to her chest and says,

"Apparently Mike knocked him unconscious, and that caused some amnesia. He doesn't even remember going into Mike's room."

Well that sounds suspicious as fuck. Maybe this is an actual case for us.

Last night Sam called to check in and told me that he and Dean were heading out to look into a missing person's case. A twenty-something named Michael Vega, who until fairly recently had been holed up in a psychiatric hospital, is on the Demon's watchlist for some reason. According to Sam, the Demon's want 'Mike' alive, which can only mean bad things for both Mike and the general population.

Dean isn't happy about following up on the potential case, mostly because Ruby was the one who gave them the lead. I don't particularly like the idea of trusting Sam's Demon bitch either, but if this Mike guy really has all the Demons hot to get their hands on his ass then he needs protection. Or possibly he needs to die, depending on how innocent he actually is in all this. He wouldn't be the first human to get himself neck deep in Demon shit for the sake of power or wealth. Some humans can be just as fucked up as the monsters my family and I hunt.

Jo and I were actually closer to the hospital where Mike Vega was last seen when Sam called, so I told my brothers that we would head over there and meet up with them later.

Sam and Dean told me to wait until they arrived to start snooping around, but Jo said ' _fuck that_ ' and I agreed.

First thing in the morning we arrived, Jo and I headed over to the psychiatric hospital that had been Mike's home for the last few months, and flashed our badges. We were quickly waved through and Mike's main psychiatrist came to talk to us in his old room.

"You said that Mike's had problems for years, but that it got a lot worse a few months ago?" I ask Dr Fell, trying to look only vaguely interested.

Dr Fell nods, sympathy softening her features.

"Mike was orphaned at three years of age and has spent most of his life in the system. He was shuffled from foster home to foster home until he ran away when he was fifteen. He only popped back up on the radar again when he overdosed and was taken into hospital. Since then he's been in and out of hospital numerous times for similar reasons. But when he was admitted to us, his records showed that he's been clean for over a year."

I take all of that in, finding myself curious about this guy. What would the Demons want with an ex-junkie foster kid? Unless Mike getting clean a year ago has something to do with a Demon deal, I really don't get it.

"What did he do to get himself locked up in here?" Jo asks. She looks around the small, white room with barely veiled antipathy.

Dr Fell doesn't appear pleased to have Jo insinuate that the hospital 'locks up' anyone, but she explains,

"Mike has a history of mental health issues, mostly linked to his drug abuse. In the last few months he began hallucinating. He was eventually taken over by his delusions."

"What kind of delusions?" I ask.

Dr Fell hands me a battered old journal with Mike's name on it, and says,

"He kept seeing Demons."

Well, ok. So Mike Vega is either crazy, or he's just accidentally gotten himself embroiled in a world he doesn't understand. Either way, he's one poor bastard.

Dr Fell seems to mistake my expression for disbelief and adds,

"It's very common for our patients to believe that monsters are coming after them."

I almost laugh out loud at that, but manage to keep myself under control. Jo has to hide a smile behind her hand. We are not good people.

I start flipping through Mike's journal. It doesn't take long for me to find a reference to the Apocalypse. Our real deal Apocalypse, I mean. Mike's written things about the seals that have been broken and there's even a few things in here about the Angels and, fuck me, _Dean_. He doesn't mention Dean's actual name, but Mike has written about a righteous man, a hunter of monsters, being raised from hell by an Angel.

Jo looks at me with a frown on her face, waiting for my verdict. I hope that I don't look as freaked out as I feel. I meet her eyes.

Who the fuck is this Mike Vega asshole, and why does he know so much?

"We need to find him." I say to Jo urgently.

"I hope you do." Dr Fell says with what sounds like genuine concern for her patient. "It's not safe for him to be out there right now."

Yeah, no kidding.

Mike Vega better hope it's me and Jo who find him first. The Demons will tear him apart.

Hell, I might tear him apart to find out what he knows. But at least I'll probably be nice about it.

"Don't worry." I say to Dr Fell. I smile at her. It feels painfully forced. "We'll track him down."

…..

I read through Mike's journal, searching for any indication of where he might go to feel safe. The only thing I can find is a single reference Mike makes about a church he once went to as a child. It's a really long shot, but it's all we have, so Jo and I drive to the church in Mike's journal, hoping that he'll be there.

Jo gets her gun out as soon as we step foot inside the church. I give her a dismayed look and she just stares back at me like she has no idea what the problem is. I decide to let it go. Trying to get Jo to part with any of her weapons would be like trying to take a favourite toy from a particularly stubborn child. It's not worth the inevitable biting, kicking and pouting. I once tried to use one of Jo's knives without asking and she stabbed me. Only a little. But still. She _stabbed_ me.

Jo and I slowly make our way through the small church. Due to the church's size, there are a limited amount of places that Mike could be hiding.

Even so, it takes us a few minutes to figure out that Mike is in some sort of storage attic. Or, at least, I'm guessing it's him who springs out from behind a paint glass window and aims a gun at us.

Once I get a better look at him, I see that he is definitely our missing crazy person. Dr Fell showed us a picture of him at the hospital. He doesn't look all that crazy though, apart from the gun and the slightly deranged glint in his eyes.

Mike Vega is around the six foot mark. He's slim around the waist, but broader in the shoulders. He has very dark eyes, and equally dark brown hair that appears as if it was recently cut short, although the ends still curl around his ears. He has high cheek bones, a full mouth and thick stubble on his face that looks more like the beginnings of a beard. All in all, Mike Vega is kinda, sorta, really fucking hot.

I really need to stop meeting hot guys like this, it's unfair on my twenty year old brain. I'll make sure to pray about it at some point, since we're already in a church. I doubt that God will care, but, who really knows what his deal is. He could commiserate. I mean, dating and fucking around must be difficult if you're God. Like, who would want to deal with all that baggage? Not to mention, you'd have to be stepmother/father to a whole load of annoying bratty kids with wings. Thanks but no thanks.

I hold my hands to show Mike that I don't have a weapon and that he definitely doesn't need to shoot me. I really hate getting shot. It hurts like a bitch, and takes ages to heal. First time I got shot I was fifteen. A deputy from the local police station was being mind controlled by a particularly powerful ghost, and I took a bullet to the leg. Dean almost had a coronary about it. I was banned from doing pretty much anything for like a month whilst he mother-henned the shit out of me.

Fucking _ghosts_.

Jo reluctantly lowers her gun when I nudge her leg with my foot pointedly. She rolls her eyes at me, but flicks on the safety and holds her hands up as well anyway.

Mike is watching us warily, which I guess is fair. But I'm hoping he doesn't think we're Demons, because I really don't want to splash myself with holy water in a church while a guy aims a gun at me. It's not my idea of a good time.

"You're Michael Vega, right?" I ask hopefully.

Mike narrows his eyes at us and replies angrily,

"Yeah, and who the fucking _fuck_ are you?"

Ah, we got a live one. Goodie.

I try my best to look trust-worthy. I have a lot of experience dealing with widows and family members of victims. People are far more likely to tell you things if you're non-threatening and likable.

"My name is Adam Winchester." I say, and then nod in Jo's direction. "This is my friend Jo."

Mike's entire expression changes abruptly from openly hostile to visibly shocked.

That's either a really good sign, or a really shitty one.

"Winchester." Mike says, as if tasting the word as it wraps around his tongue. "Like, for real? You're one of the Winchester brother assholes who the Angels won't shut the hell up about?"

Oh, is this good or bad? I honestly can't tell.

"Yep." I say, flashing Mike a sarcastic smile. "I'm one of _those_ assholes."

Mike's grip on his gun loosens slightly, and he takes a small step towards us. Despite his aggressive words, his eyes have softened into something less suspicious and pissed off, which is always nice.

"Your brother Dean went to Hell." Mike says somewhat eagerly. "Yeah?"

"He did." I say gravely. A pit in my stomach opens up and all kinds of twisty and sharp feelings start to claw their way out. I mentally pour a vat of cement into that pit and seal it off to deal with another day. Or never. Yeah, probably never, that works for me.

Mike blows out a breath and says with what sounds like genuine sorrow,

"Tough break."

He finally lowers his gun.

"I'll be sure to pass on your sympathies to my brother." I say drolly.

Mike smiles crookedly at me.

"You do that, Plan B." He says.

That gets my attention alright.

"What? Plan B?" I say, bewildered and confused by the apparent nickname.

Mike shrugs one shoulder and says,

"Yeah, that's what the Angels call you."

Oh, fantastic. That's not terrifying at all.

"Angels are fucking dicks." Jo says decisively. She's lowered her hands and is flipping her gun in a way that I'm sure is gonna one day end with either Jo accidentally shooting herself or, more likely, me.

"Agreed." Mike and I say at the same time with equal vehemence.

I frown at Mike then and ask,

"Wait, so how do you know so much about all of this Apocalypse stuff anyway?"

Mike makes a pained sound. His dark eyes become almost haunted.

"I can hear them. Angels." He says. He taps his temple with two fingers. "Inside my head. There's like a billion of them talking about all kinds of crap. I swear it's like I'm constantly listening in on the weirdest board meeting ever."

I exchange an 'oh shit, no' look with Jo.

"Fuck, so you got locked up for accidentally tuning in to Angel radio?" Jo says, pulling a face at the thought.

"Yeah. Pretty much." Mike says tiredly.

"That kind of really sucks some major ass." I say. "When did you start unwillingly eavesdropping on Heaven's finest douchecanoes?"

"Early September." Mike says. "About the eighth I think. Thought I was just hallucinating or losing my mind at first."

Shit, that was the day Dean got out of Hell.

"This is so crazy." Jo says, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Dude, seriously, it's crazy as all fuck balls." Mike says in agreement.

"You being able to hear the Angels has gotta be one hell of an incentive for the Demons to get at you." I say, dread building in my chest the more I think about it. "Bet they'd love to find out everything the Angels are babbling on about on their clouds all day."

Before either Jo or Mike can respond I hear the tell-tale sound of someone coming towards us. I turn around just in time to see a middle aged man with silver hair and cruel eyes appear in the doorway to the attic.

Mike gasps audibly and hisses,

" _Demon_."

Because of course it is.

"Hello kiddies." The Demon says, his voice low and filled with a horrific kind of joy that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Now, be good boys and girls and hand over Mr Vega, please."

I look at Jo and say,

"Get Mike out of here _now_."

I can practically smell the power on this Demon. If I don't have a chance in hell of beating him, then I can at least distract him.

I grab Jo's gun, point it at the Demon and fire a bullet into his face. It won't kill him, but a bullet to the face is enough to startle anyone.

The Demon stumbles backwards and grabs at his face. He makes a sound that's more rage than painfilled.

I shove Jo's gun back into her hands and shout,

"Go!"

Jo looks at me with fear in her eyes, fear for me, but she knows as well as I do that the civilians always come first. Mike Vega may somehow be involved with the Angels, but everything I know about him indicates that he is still very much a civilian right now.

I take out my own gun and empty it shooting at the Demon. It has little to no effect and the Demon snarls at me, spitting out blood and teeth and bone. His face is a mangled mess, but he's still alive in there.

Jo snatches hold of Mike's arm and drags him towards the door whilst the Demon is busy advancing on me.

Mike turns his head to look right at me, and I catch the horror and regret in his eyes right before he and Jo disappear from sight. Even with a wrathful Demon now about to kill me, I still feel relieved that Jo and Mike might have the chance to escape.

The Demon grabs hold of my jacket with one hand and punches me twice with the other. It feels like getting hit in the face with a brick. A big fucking brick that wants me to die.

Blood practically explodes from my nose and I taste even more blood in my mouth. It's hot and metallic, and I spit it out so I won't choke on it. My vision goes blurry for a few seconds when the Demon punches me the third time, but I stay conscious.

The Demon slams me up against the wall, hard, and gets in my face. I have no idea how, but the Demon can still speak. I was really hoping the bullet would have put a stop to that at least. I hate it when Demon's talk. It's always either vicious lies or cruelly worded truths.

"Look at you, little Adam Winchester." The Demon sneers. "Dean's precious _baby_ brother." He wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes hard enough to cut off my oxygen supply. His barely there mouth twists into something that I think is supposed to be a smile. "You should know that your brother screamed your name the most when I _cut_ into him."

I fight desperately against the Demon's hold, but I was right before, this Demon is strong. It's like trying to move a statue made of steel.

The Demon keeps talking, spilling out vile things that will probably haunt my nightmares for months.

"I've been wanting to meet you, kiddo. Your daddy and big bro were my biggest failure and my greatest success. Makes me wonder what it would be like to try and break you. To hear you scream all bloody and pretty for me. Would you scream for the daddy who barely cared about you, or for the mommy who left you all alone?" The Demon makes a garbled sound that might have been an attempt at laughter. "No, oh no, I bet you would scream for Dean. Your big brother. Your hero. Your saviour. The only person you were ever able to count on. I'm almost disappointed that you weren't there to watch your big brother torture all of those poor souls. It's funny to think, if things had gone differently...it could have just as easily been _you_."

I'm so distracted by what the Demon is saying and, well, the fact that he's choking me, that I don't see Jo come up behind the Demon with a machete.

Jo saves me by hacking off the Demon's head.

Blood hits my face and the Demon's hand slackens on my throat. I shove him away from me right before black smokes arches up and out of the Demon's neck. Some flows out of the Demon's severed head and joins the rest. The black smoke disappears through the ceiling.

…...

"You were supposed to wait for us!" Dean yells at me for about the billionth time.

After our run in at the church, we got a call from Dean demanding that we meet up with him and Sam. I didn't want to tell them what happened, but it was more than obvious that I'd been beaten badly by something. Jo said that Dean and Sam were unlikely to believe that I took an unfortunate fall down the hospital stairs.

Predictably, Dean went postal when he first saw me. Even Sam got all touchy-checky when Jo told them the whole story, damn her.

"Dean, calm your shit, I'm fine ok?" I say, refusing to yell back at my brother. Things will only get worse if this turns into an actual fight.

"You're just a kid, damn it." Dean says, full of protective fury. He's pacing now. It's only working him up even more somehow.

Jo and I took Mike with us to meet my brothers and apparently Ruby at one of our safehouses. Well, it's more of a shack, but hell, we've definitely stayed in worse places. Worse motels even. At least here we don't have to pay.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you go hunting alone." Dean says. He turns to Sam angrily. "This is your fault. You let him go off by himself and now he thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants."

Sam huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes at Dean's dramatics, like he wasn't practically stripping me to look for injuries about ten minutes ago. Both of my brothers are ridiculous.

I see Ruby The Brother Seducing Demon standing next to Sam and watching him with what could almost be described as fondness. It really freaks me out when Ruby acts like a person. Even more so when she acts like a person who's genuinely into my brother.

"Hey, he wasn't alone. We're partners. Did you forget who saved his ass today?" Jo says. She's looming protectively over Mike in the corner with her arms crossed and a pissy look on her face.

"Not helping, Jo." I snap, running a hand over my face and through my hair. Frustration ramps up inside me and I push back the urge to say something to Dean that I'll regret later.

"You're not ready for any of this shit." Dean says to me, his green eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and fear. "If you keep being this reckless then you're gonna end up dead, and I _won't_ let that happen." He grabs hold of my shoulder and squeezes it, hard. "I will lock you up in Bobby's basement before I let you die, ya hear me kid?"

I grit my teeth and meet my brothers' eyes straight on.

"I hear you." I say coldly.

Surprisingly, it's Mike who jumps to my defense.

Mike strides over to me and Dean. He narrows his eyes at Dean and says,

"Adam saved my God damn life. If he hadn't gotten there when he did, that Demon would have taken me and probably tortured me. You think what you want, Dean Winchester, but I'm glad your brother was there."

Mike reaches out and brushes his fingers against my bare arm. His touch burns like a white hot flame.

I look at Mike and we lock eyes. There's something in Mike that reaches out and latches on to something in me. A current flows between us, electric and alive and dangerous. I don't understand it, but I feel like I know him. It's as if my soul recognises this guy. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it's honestly the closest I can get to describing the feeling with words.

Everything and everyone else in the room seem to fade away. I've never felt anything like this before. It hurts. And it's overwhelming in a way that I don't know how to deal with. I see interest flicker in Mike's eyes. The kind of interest I've seen in the eyes of strangers in bars all over the country. Whatever this is has nothing to do with sex or physical attraction though. It's somehow more than that, deeper than that, a lot scarier than that could ever be.

I'm not sure how much time passes with me and Mike just kinda looking at each other, but it must be a significant amount because Dean says,

"Kid, could you maybe stop eye-fucking your new boyfriend right in front of me. My eyes feel violated."

Heat burns my cheeks and I just know that I'm blushing like a twelve year old. Jesus Christ, why is it always like this for me?

I tear my eyes away from Mike and glare at Dean.

"Shut up, Dean, you asshole."

Dean grins at me like he does when he knows he's poked a nerve. Then he seems to realise that he's just acknowledged my partial gayness and his expression turns horrified. He looks like he doesn't know whether to take it back or pretend it never happened.

Dean's discomfort about my being bisexual never ceases to amuse me.

Luckily for Dean, the shack starts to shake and the wind outside picks up tempo, making it sound like there's a hurricane about to hit us. We all move into action, more out of instinct than anything else.

Jo pulls Mike off into the bathroom and closes the door behind them. Ruby, Sam and Dean all grab weapons that probably won't do jack shit against the dicks who are coming.

They all think that it's gonna be a hoard of Demons bashing down our door. But I'd say that the air tastes more like Angels.

Demons are sulphur and blood and dread.

Angels are electricity and ice and terror.

I can't help but feel stupid for not thinking that the Angels would be coming after Mike too. They're probably not all that fond of the idea of Demons getting their hands on a living Angel radio.

I pick up a gun, because peer pressure, and wait for the inevitable.

I haven't seen Castiel since he flapped into my car, revealed some heavy shit, and flapped out again.

This is gonna be awkward.

The walls shake and the wind screams.

Then the door to the shack bangs open dramatically and Castiel comes marching in with Anna. Oh good, even more fun and staring.

Castiel and Anna are still wearing the same clothes as the last time I saw them. I'm starting to wonder if Angels have a freakin' dress code.

Castiel doesn't even pretend to acknowledge anyone other than me and Dean. Unfairly though, Dean gets Soul Stared for about five seconds. It's an intense five seconds, but still. After that Castiel's gaze lands on me and doesn't shift away again.

"Please tell me you're here to help." Dean says to the Angels. "The kid almost got killed by Demons who want your radio buddy."

I make a growling sound at Dean. Not _everyone_ needs to know that I got my ass kicked.

Castiel's eyes seem to sharpen. He takes in the obvious bruising around my neck, my black eye, and the cut on my mouth. He does not look pleased by the evidence of my beatdown. In fact, his eyes do that deep, arctic blue thing that suggests a smiting could potentially be in the cards. Hopefully for the Demon and not for me.

"I'm _fine_." I say emphatically to Castiel.

Castiel does not look convinced. Great, just what I need, another big brother watching over me like I'm a baby bird who wants to try flying for the first time by jumping off a cliff.

"We're here for Michael Vega." Anna says, and there's something in her voice that sends a chill down my spine.

Dean looks Anna up and down, and mentally I think ' _not now, Dean_ '. But, I can't say that out loud. Mostly because I've been doing the same thing with Castiel this whole time.

"Are you going to help him?" Sam asks. He sounds about as unsure about that as he should.

Castiel proves my point by saying,

"No. He has to die."

Oh shit.

"What, why?" Sam demands, clearly taken aback. This is technically the first time that Sam has met Angels. He knows about them threatening to blow up a whole town though, which dampened his excitement over meeting them quite a lot.

"Screw why." Dean says, all snarly and shit. "You can't just kill a guy because he's wiretapping your Angel chats or whatever."

"This does not concern you, Winchester." Anna says. She looks at Dean like he's a particularly fascinating specimen under her microscope, but not much more than that.

"The hell it doesn't." Dean snaps back at her.

Anna and Dean get to have their own staring contest. Aw, how sweet.

"You can't kill him." Sam says to the Angels. "He's just an innocent guy."

That gets Castiel's cage rattled. He shakes his head slowly and says,

"Michael Vega has to die. You don't understand. He is needed for a higher purpose."

Wait, what? That doesn't make any sense.

"Castiel." I say warily. "What's really going on? Who is Mike?" I pause, thinking for a moment, and then add tentatively. " _What_ is Mike?"

Castiel tilts his head at me. I'm starting to think it's some kind of nervous tic, except he only does it when he's trying to really understand something.

"There are things that you do not need to know." He says. "This is one of them. You need to trust us."

"Yeah, no thanks feathers." Dean scoffs. "We've already met our Shady Ally quota with this one." He jerks a thumb at Ruby.

Ruby makes a face at my brother.

"Thanks Dean, I feel so accepted."

Dean gives her a saccharine smile in response.

"You're welcome, bitch."

I think the fact that Dean hasn't tried to attack Ruby even once since we got here is a miracle. Sam must have told Dean all about how Ruby banged him into dealing with his grief. It is truly a beautiful story.

"Give us the boy." Anna says, taking a threatening step forward.

Well there's really only one response to that.

"No. Fucking. Way."

And then everything goes to shit.

Anna throws Ruby into a wall. Dean, to my ever growing shock, actually tries to save her. Anna kicks his ass quite successfully.

Castiel strides towards the bathroom. When Sam attempts to stop him, Castiel mind shazams him into fainting.

I sigh when I realise the last line of defence is me. How is this my life? Seriously.

I stand in front of the bathroom door and face off with Castiel.

"I can't let you hurt this guy, Castiel." I say mournfully. "Whatever he used to be, he's just a human now."

Castiel steps so far into my space that our faces are only inches apart. I should be able to feel his breath against my mouth, but he's not breathing. It's a stark reminder that Castiel is something so vastly different from what I am. A reminder that my existence must seem very small and unimportant to him. A reminder that just because he looks like a man doesn't mean he has the ability to think like one. Or feel like one.

He watches me in that way of his. I watch him right back.

Castiel raises his hand. I assume he's going to touch my forehead with his fingers and shazam me to sleep like he did with Sam.

" _Don't_." I choke on the word.

But Castiel doesn't touch my forehead. He touches my cheek instead. His thumb brushes gently over the swelling under my left eye. There's an electric charge that ripples through the air and pushes into me, digging under my skin, making my body feel unnaturally static.

I blink when Castiel pulls his hand back. He's still watching me intently.

"What...what did you just do?" I ask quietly.

"I healed your injuries." Castiel says, matter-of-factly.

It's my turn to tilt my head in open 'huh'.

"Why would you-"

And that's when Castiel shazams me to sleep.

I repeat, _how_ is this my life?

…..

"So, who's sex dungeon is this again?" Mike asks. He sat on a bed in Bobby's bunker. I'm sat next to him with my knees pulled up against my chest.

After I was shazammed by Castiel, apparently Mike did a bit of shazamming of his own. According to Jo he cut open his own arm and drew a weird symbol with blood on the mirror in the bathroom. When Mike pressed his hand against the symbol, Castiel and Anna both got zapped away to wherever. I was reliably informed by Jo that it was kind of freaky and kind of awesome at the same time.

When Sam and I woke up, we all agreed that the best thing we could do was to get Mike somewhere safe. In the end we headed to Bobby's. He isn't actually home right now, but when I called him Bobby said we could hole up there if we wanted. He just warned me not to let Sam steal any of his books and to stop Dean from stealing any of his booze.

Now I'm sitting with Mike in Bobby's bunker, waiting for Dean and Jo to come back with Pamela the psychic. It was decided that the only way to find out what's going on in Mike's head is to have someone dig around inside. I wasn't so sure about the idea, but Dean and Jo jumped on it and I didn't have any better suggestions.

Sam is upstairs surrounded by about a thousand books on Angel lore and slowly making his way through it. I don't know what he thinks he'll find in all of that, but it's probably more of a distraction than anything else.

I turn my head to look at Mike and answer his question.

"Bobby Singer's. He's an old family friend."

Mike's gaze scans the bunker a couple of times thoughtfully. He asks me,

"Did you grow up here?"

I can't help but laugh at that. I shake my head. Mike squints at me, obviously not understanding what I would find funny about his question.

I explain,

"I grew up on the road. Mostly."

"Your parents were hunters too?" Mike asks curiously.

"My Dad was." I say. And I really don't want to go into that, so. "You spent most of your life in care though right?"

I wince after I ask that question. My social skills clearly need some work. That's what I get for spending my life around hunters who have no concept of how to talk like normal people.

Mike doesn't seem to mind though, and he nods.

"Yeah. I don't really remember my parents. It was shitty, I guess." He blows out a breath. "I made some bad choices, though, and that's on me." His face gets a faraway expression, like he's thinking about something from a place deep inside his head. A bad memory, maybe. Or a series of bad memories. He smiles, but it's a bitter thing. A pained thing.

"I get that." I say. "Growing up a hunter's kid could be shitty sometimes too."

Mike seems to consider that for a moment, before he says,

"Yeah, I can see that. Chasing monsters is probably only cool in the movies."

I meet his eyes. He's looking back at me. His iris' are so dark down here due to the lack of light, that they look almost black.

"I've made bad choices too." I say. "Got people hurt by being stupid. By not being fast enough. Strong enough. Good enough."

I'm being too honest, and I don't know why. I don't know what it is about this guy that's got me all twisted up. It's kind of freaking me out. But until Mike's apparent effect on me proves to be something supernatural that I can kill, I'll just have to pretend that I'm ok with it.

Mike laughs low and humourless. He rubs a hand over his jaw, his calloused fingers making a rough sound against the scruff on his face.

"Well, I got you beat on that then." Mike says. He pulls up the sleeve of his leather jacket, revealing the broken spiderweb of needle scars on his arm. "The only person I've ever really hurt is myself."

My eyes flicker down to the scars and then back up again. I've seen scars. All kinds of scars on all sorts of people for a lot of different reasons. I have scars of my own.

I pat my right thigh, and say,

"Bullet from a ghost." I tap my left bicep. "Knife from a Witch." I knock a fist against the right side of my torso. "Claws from a Werewolf."

"Your scars are from hunts." Mike says. He gets that pained expression again. "They're from you trying to help save people. My scars mean weakness, yours mean strength."

I smile a little, and it's sharper than it should be. Too sharp to be real, like shards of glass from a smashed mirror inside a funhouse. I press a hand to my chest, across my heart.

"Burns." I say neutrally. "From a cigarette."

Mike looks at me with eyes that see more than they should. More than a stranger should see in another stranger.

"From a monster?" He asks, even though he must know the answer to that one already.

"Not the kind I hunt." I say. I take in a breath, then let it out. "Scars only mean what you let them mean."

I drop my head back against the wall with an audible thump, and I close my eyes so I don't have to know what Mike thinks about that. So I don't have to look at him at all. I can hear him breathing next to me though, and that's still too much.

I only open my eyes again when I hear Ruby speak.

"You Winchesters really are something else."

She's leaning against the doorway to the bunker and watching me and Mike. Her eyes are fastened on me though. She looks thoughtful, which is disconcerting. But I'm used to feeling like that with Ruby. I don't think she ever really knew how to take me.

When Ruby was 'helping' Sam, she used to try and get closer to me. She offered to talk with me about Dean. She made jokes and acted like she was just some girl that my brother had brought home to meet the family.

I resisted her charm, which I consider quite a feat, because I will never deny that Ruby has something about her that draws you in. She makes you want to trust her.

And I think that makes her more dangerous than any Demon or monster my brothers and I have ever faced.

"Your opinion is noted, Emerald, thank you." I say wryly.

Mike leans forward a little and points at Ruby.

"Who is this one again?"

I wave a hand in Ruby's direction, and say,

"This is my brother's Demon girlfriend. Her name is Sapphire. Or Pearl. Some shit like that."

"She's your brother's _what?_ " Mike says incredulously, doing a double take of Ruby.

"Hey, some people are into weird shit." I say, shrugging. "You should see _Dean's_ porn stash." I mentally shudder at the thought.

Mike laughs, and it's a smooth sound this time. He grins toothily at me and asks,

"And what are you into?"

I blink in surprise, and peer at Mike, looking to see if he's joking around or being serious.

"Uncomplicated." I say eventually, because that's the honest answer.

I'm not exactly the One Night Stand Wonder that Dean is, but I prefer no strings or long term expectations when it comes to sex. I've never actually dated anyone though, so I can't say what I'd want out of a real relationship. I'm twenty years old and I've never been on a date that didn't begin and end in the back of a car. I really don't want to know what that says about me. Probably nothing healthy or good.

"How about you?" I ask Mike, more out of a need not to talk about myself than anything else.

Mike grins at me and says,

"Me? Very recently I've gotten into people who know I'm not crazy for thinking that Demons and Angels exist."

I can't stop myself from grinning back at him. This conversation is so stupid. Probably. I don't know. Maybe not. It depends on if the world ends before I get the chance to possibly bang this hot living Angel radio.

"Well that really limits your options." I say with mock seriousness.

Mike raises one hand and tips it from side to side in consideration.

"Yeah, maybe. But everyone knows that quality beats quantity, and yesterday I got rescued from a Demon by this sexy as fuck hunter, so...what do you think, have I got a shot?" He says, half joking, half honestly asking.

I pretend to think about it, barely managing not to laugh outright.

"Sorry man." I say apologetically. "You're not really Jo's type. She likes 'em ridiculous and annoying and possibly named Dean."

Mike huffs and hits his knee.

"Damn. The disappointment I feel at that revelation is deep and very real."

I start laughing, and a second later Mike joins me. It's not even that funny. But it feels good to laugh anyway.

"Hey." Ruby calls, and she bangs on the wall just outside the bunker. "Warn me if you guys are gonna start screwing in there. That way I can be sure to absolutely _not_ stop Dean from going in. Then Dean will murder this guy, and we won't need to worry about Angels or Demons coming after us to get to him anymore."

"I had to listen to you bone my brother for months, Diamond, so you can just fucking deal." I call back to Ruby with a snort.

Ruby doesn't have time to retort, because a few seconds later we all hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the wooden stairs to the basement.

I immediately recognise Pamela's voice as she flirts and fucks with my brothers. I also hear Jo laughing, most likely at Dean, as Pamela makes my brothers hilariously uncomfortable on purpose

I slip off the bed and go to meet Pamela at the door.

"Hey Pamela." I say congenially.

She grins and yanks me into a hug. Then she pats my ass and says teasingly,

"Ah here he is, the youngest and the fairest of them all. Good to hear your voice again kid."

I snort on a laugh and say,

"Nice sunglasses, Special Agent Psychic."

Pamela chuckles, her voice the same suggestive drawl that I remember. She gives my face a few good, hard smacks.

I realise that Mike has come up behind me when Pamela practically shoves me out of the way, and steps into the bunk. She grins up at Mike, and says,

"Hey, Mike, how are ya? I'm Pamela."

She reaches out to Mike and grasps hold of his arms, giving them a squeeze.

"Uh, hey." Mike says, somewhat awkwardly.

Pamela smiles warmly at Mike.

"The guys have told me what's been going on. I'm happy to help." She says.

Mike's frame relaxes slightly, and he nods.

"Well thanks for that. I could use all the help I can get."

Pamela frowns sympathetically, and says,

"Sweetheart, if what the Winchesters have told me is even half true, then hell yeah, I think you're right about that."

…..

"Now, I'm going to count down from five to zero." Pamela says calmly. "When we're at zero, you'll in a deep state of hypnosis."

Mike is led out on the bed in the bunker with his eyes closed and looking very, very uncomfortable.

I watch from the other side of the room as Pamela counts down.

Once it seems like Mike is out, Pamela starts asking questions like 'why can you hear the Angels?' and 'how did you know to draw that blood symbol?' and blah blah what the fuck blah.

It doesn't work at first, and Mike keeps giving the same answers of 'I don't know', or occasionally 'I don't fucking know, ok'.

But the more Pamela prods, the more distressed Mike becomes. He moves around on the bed and shouts for Pamela to stop. He sounds like he's in pain, and it takes a lot of willpower not to intervene. I want to try and help Mike, to take the pain and fear away somehow. But I can't because we need to know the truth. We need to know what Mike is and why the Angels want him so bad.

Ever since the Angels showed up I've had an idea of what's going on here, and this whole time I've been desperately hoping that I was wrong.

Unfortunately, I am not wrong.

After a lot of screaming and flailing and lights exploding, Pamela wakes Mike up from his deep sleep. Mike sits up and looks directly at me as he tells us that he remembers what he is. An Angel.

Mike is an Angel.

But, apparently, that's just about _all_ he remembers.

"What do you mean that's it?" Dean demands about ten minutes later when we've all reconvened upstairs in the living room.

Jo is sitting on the back of the sofa next to Dean and Pamela. She's watching Mike with the same amount of distrust as my brother. Pamela just looks disgruntled and a little bit betrayed, like we tricked her into helping an Angel.

Sam and Ruby are standing in the corner, both of them looking equally wary, like they think Mike is going to smite them at any moment.

I'm leaning against the wall and watching Mike pace up and down the room. He looks supremely agitated. He doesn't exude the same cold, ruthlessness that Castiel and Anna do. But, that being said, there is something unmistakably _other_ about Mike that I noticed even before I knew for sure that he was an Angel. It's a lot more pronounced now.

Mike throws my brother a baleful glare.

"I mean, I _know_ that I am an Angel." He says in frustration. "I _know_ that I was not always human. But when I try to remember anything else, anything more, about my existence before I became human, I can't." He runs a hand through his hair for about the billionth time, making it stick up messily. He pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns as he tries to explain. "It's like there's a wall inside my mind. Or a door. A big locked door with about a hundred different locks on it. I can't see past it. I don't understand why, but for some reason my mind won't let me remember."

Well that's shit.

"But why would the Angels want you dead if you're one of them?" Sam asks, frowning at Mike like he's a somewhat interesting bug on display at a museum.

Mike shrugs helplessly.

"Honestly guys, I'm sorry. But I really _don't know_."

Dean doesn't look convinced or reassured by that answer, and I can tell that he's gearing up for a full on interrogation. I only have to take in the tiredness on Mike's face and the slump in his shoulders to know that pushing him won't help. Dean is bound to lose his temper at some point, and I'm afraid that Mike is on edge enough to fight back if Dean offers the opportunity.

I push my body away from the wall and place myself firmly between Mike and everyone else, blocking the suspicious stares of my friends and family. I throw Dean a warning glare over my shoulder, and say,

"Let's just call it a night, ok. If Mike says he doesn't remember then he doesn't remember and there's fuck all any of us can do about it."

Mike looks beyond grateful for the out, and I give his shoulder a little shove, indicating that he should leave. Like right now. Mike is apparently not a moron, because he takes the cue and says,

"I'm gonna go outside and...smoke?" He looks to me hopefully.

I nod, more than happy to get the hell away from everyone else. And yeah, maybe I'm smoking again, and maybe I've been craving a cigarette all fucking day. Now I have the perfect excuse. Thank you secret Angel Mike.

"Kid-" Dean starts with that annoying protective tone of his that drives me insane.

Thankfully, I meet Jo's eyes and mentally ask for help. She nods in recognition, mission accepted. Jo grabs hold of Dean's arm and says,

"Hey Pamela, you wanna go home. Me and Dean can take you, no problem."

Pamela straightens instantly, and says,

"Hell yes, get me out of here."

Dean makes a frustrated sound in his throat. He spends the next few seconds obviously trying to think of a way to get out of taking Pamela home without looking like a complete jerk.

Jo doesn't give him a chance to come up with anything good. She starts dragging him out of the room and because Dean is more than a little soft on her, and because Jo is surprisingly strong for someone so small, he goes along with her. Pamela takes Dean's other arm and helps Jo to lead him out the front door.

Once the front door slams shut, I turn to Sam and Ruby. Sam looks vaguely concerned. Most likely by everything all at once. Ruby just smirks at me, and I resist the urge to poke my tongue out at her.

"Sam, me and Mike are gonna just go out the back for a bit, ok." I say.

I don't wait for Sam to argue before making my way towards the back door with Mike in tow.

"Have fun, boys." Ruby calls out.

I flip her off over my shoulder.

….

I lead Mike out into the scrap yard and take him as far as I think I can get away with. I find us a safe-ish car to sit on and I jump up onto the hood. Mike follows suit.

We don't speak as I dig around in my pocket for my emergency packet of Marlboro's. I flash the small box at Mike in an unspoken question. Mike nods once and takes a cigarette from the pack. I take out one of my own.

I swear under my breath when I realise I left my lighter somewhere inside. Mike laughs, a low throaty chuckle, and says,

"Don't panic, I've got us covered."

Mike stuffs a hand into his jacket pocket and takes out a lighter. He hands it to me hesitantly. I notice his reluctance and take a closer look at the lighter. It's black metal and more than a little battered. I see that there are words engraved on it. The words are faded, but I can still just about make them out. ' _M.V-Stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong_ '.

I frown down at the words, then look over at Mike. He's got an expression on his face that I recognise. It's the expression of loss and a sadness too strained and complicated to name. I get the same look on my own face when I think about my father.

"Flip it." Mike says after a long, tension filled, pause.

I obediently flip the lighter, and I almost gasp when I see that Angel wings have been engraved on the other side.

"Holy shit." I whisper harshly.

"It was my father's. M.V, Michael Vega. It's a family name." Mike says softly. He's still staring down at the lighter in my hand, his dark eyes glittering with old grief. He clears his throat, and adds, "It's one of the only things I have left of him."

"Mike." I say, too rough and too gentle at the same time. I swallow whatever I was about to say. Sometimes there are no words.

"I spent most of my life wondering what they were like. Wondering what it would have been like to grow up with parents, my parents, alive." Mike says, his voice catching and breaking, like waves on the ocean. "Just the usual orphan bullshit, you know." He shakes his head and laughs. It's a cracked, fractured sound. "Now I'm thinking...all those years of dreaming and wanting and wishing and... _fuck_...none of it mattered. None of it meant anything. I was never supposed to have that life. I was always gonna end up...here."

My heart beats painfully hard against my ribcage. I feel Mike's sense of hopelessness, his anger, and his anguish. His world is turning inside out over and over again, and there's nothing I can do. I can't make it better. I can't even promise that we'll survive the Angels and the Demons and all the bullshit that's inevitably coming our way.

I'm just a hunter. Happy endings are unheard of, and hope isn't really part of the lifestyle. Not if you're a Winchester anyway.

But there is something I know I can do. Something I've been doing my whole life. Something that keeps me sane.

Distraction.

I close my hand around Mike's lighter and shove it into my front jean pocket.

I very unsubtly shift closer to Mike. He sees me coming and he doesn't move away, which I take as a good sign. I meet Mike's eyes, dark brown on pale green. I can feel and taste his hot breath on my face, and my lips tingle from the unexpected heat of it. I ask Mike a question with my eyes, and Mike responds with a slight nod. I don't hesitate.

I kiss him.

I press my lips to Mike's. Our mouths slide and fit together. He kisses me back, soft and shockingly tender, in a way that I'm not used to. I gasp into his mouth when he opens up a little and pushes his tongue inside. He runs the tip of his tongue along mine. He tastes smoky, like someone's set a fire inside his throat. I lick out with my own tongue, wanting more of it. Wanting more of him.

I raise a hand and cup Mike's face, brushing my thumb along his jaw, and down to the side of his neck. I take a handful of Mike's hair and pull gently on it, urging him on. I suddenly need to have Mike's hands on me, his tongue in my mouth, his body as close to mine as it can get. I don't know where that need is coming from, but I'm too dazed from the kissing to really think about it.

Mike moves further into my space and reaches out a hand to slide it underneath my jacket and t-shirt. I feel his cold hand on my back, and it makes me shudder. I nip at his bottom lip in retaliation. He groans and grips my thigh with his other hand, tugging me toward him more roughly than before. He pulls on me so hard that I end up having to straddle him. I appreciate the show of strength, but making out on a car is a lot easier in the movies. We're balancing on the edge right now, and it would be far too easy to fall.

I tear my mouth away from Mike's and rasp hoarsely,

"Backseat. Car. Easier."

Despite my lack of explanation, Mike seems to know what I'm trying to say.

Mike's hands are on my ass now, and I have arms wrapped around his neck. Luckily my reflexes are pretty good, because Mike slides off the car in one move and takes all of my weight in his arms. I yelp in surprise and quickly wrap my legs around his waist.

Mike laughs against my throat, so I bite him again.

"Fucker." I gasp breathlessly.

Mike squeezes my ass, and my dick goes from half-hard to rod iron in two seconds flat.

I want it noted that I only let Mike carry me and lay me down on the back seat of the car because I really, really, want to get laid.

Mike climbs in on top of me and closes the car door behind him. He's already yanked his jacket and his t-shirt off. I gape a little too obviously at the sleek muscled form of his chest and torso. I reach up to touch his stomach and the skin beneath my fingers feels smooth and warm.

I sit up on my elbows and struggle valiantly to tear off my own jacket and t-shirt. Mike ends up having to help me with that, and I feel a blush heating my cheeks in reaction to my embarrassment over it.

Mike doesn't seem to care about my lack of finesse though, and as soon as my t-shirt is off, he swoops down and catches my mouth in another kiss. This one is searing and hot and hell of a lot dirtier than I was prepared for considering the softness of before. He presses his body full against mine, settling himself between my legs.

Mike kisses my mouth and my cheeks and my jaw and my neck. He licks and bites at my collar bone, and I feel fire light me up from the inside out. Sounds come out of my throat that I'll definitely regret and deny making later. But right now I don't care. It feels too good, too bright and shining and hot.

I push one hand into Mike's hair and hold on tight like its my only lifeline. My other hand slides up and around to Mike's back. I let my fingernails dig into his skin and drag them down, causing Mike to arch his back and make a desperate sound, half choking out a moan.

Mike's head falls forward and he breathes and pants against my throat.

" _Fuck_ , I want you." He says, voice raw and wild.

" _Yes_." I say, agreeing to whatever Mike has in mind. I consider myself verse, with an honest preference for getting fucked. But no one is fucking anyone right now. Dry fucking is also something that's only good in fiction.

Mike makes quick work of undoing his jeans and pulling them down enough to free his hard dick. He unbuttons my jeans as well, and I shift around for a few seconds getting my jeans and boxers kicked low on my legs. My own length curls upwards, ready and willing to get this thing moving already. I strain upwards and steal another kiss from Mike. He falls back into kissing me with ease.

After a few seconds of however, Mike pulls away. He winks at me and spits into his hand. He then wraps that same hand around both of our dicks and strokes them together. This time it's my turn to arch up on a lustful moan.

Mike continues to stroke our erections in tandem, and I help him along by helplessly rolling my hips. He starts kissing me again, and I find myself getting lost in the feel of his hand on my dick and his tongue inside my mouth.

I twine my arms around Mike's neck, holding onto him tightly, and we move together with a shocking amount of mutual instinct. It's not usually like this with a stranger. People don't usually just know how to touch each other in the right way. But Mike seems to know, like my body was once his own.

Our pleasure builds and builds and builds.

Mike comes first, and he groans so loud that it vibrates down through my body, knocking me headlong into my own orgasm. My vision goes blurry from the heat and the pleasure of it all. Hot cum covers both my stomach and Mike's, but Mike keeps on stroking us until we're both unquestionably soft. I ride the aftershocks of my orgasm, and for a single perfect moment it feels like I'm high above the earth, floating among the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N-For anyone who likes to visualise things, I imagine the Michael in my fic as being played by the actor Santiago Cabrera.
> 
> Special shout out to-twyly56 and WickedTruth28-THANK YOU FOLKS! Xx Also a big thanks to everyone who clicked the kudos button.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading. Please let me know what you thought! x


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